


Class ^ Z*i 


Book • S.G 

Copyright N° IB 


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/ 

THE 

BETTER PART 

A Story of Love and Service 


MARIETTA SMITH 


ILLUSTRATED 


1918 








« 


©CI.A511 021 



HIS FAVORITE FISHING PLACE. 




6,-M 


CONTENTS 




Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 


I. 

Good Tidings. 

II. 

Building a Church. 

III. 

Charity Templeton. 

IV. 

Sister Trigsby. 

V. 

The Poor Widow. 

VI. 

The Masquerade Party. 

VII. 

Calling A New Minister. 

VIII. 

The Ice Cream Social. 

IX. 

Good Samaritans. 

X. 

Lending To The Lord. 

XI. 

The Awakening. 

XII. 

The New Minister. 

XIII. 

A Dream. 

XIV. 

Earthly Treasure. 

XV. 

The Trumpet Call. 

XVI. 

The Broken Tower. 

XVII. 

Strangers Within The Gates. 

XVIII. 

The Shorn Lamb. 

XIX. 

Circumstantial Evidence. 

XX. 

“They That Follow Me.” 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


No. I. His Favorite Fishing Place. 
No. II. Arthur Templeton. 

No. III. Charity Templeton. 


Dedicated 


To Our Soldier Boys. 


Copyright, 1918. 

By Marietta Smith, Atchison, Xansas. 


DEC 26 Ibi a 


The Better Part 


A STORY OF LOVE AND SERVICE. 


CHAPTER I. 

GOOD TIDINGS. 

Within was a beautiful home; without, the wind stirred 
the leaves of the magolia trees and the tiny leaves of the Vir- 
ginia creeper played hide and seek around the edges of the 
upper windows. The mocking-bird sang sweetly all un- 
heard by those within, for their ears were filled with a sweet- 
er, dearer sound — the cry of a new-born babe. 

The heart of Dr. Preston overflowed with love and grati- 
tude, when the nurse said, “A boy, though a weakly little 
thing,” and he tenderly kissed the mother, whose eyes shown 
with love and gratitude that her wish had been granted, and 
a son had been given to her, to train and educate to carry 
on the work of the Master, in whose cause she had always 
been deeply interested. Other children had come into that 
home — grown up and gone to homes of their own. Many 
years had passed since little feet had pattered through the 
quiet rooms of that grand old southern home, and now their 
cup of joy was full to the brim, as they fondly gazed on the 
child of their old age. Dr. Preston had grown gray in the 
service of his fellow-men, and, although he was several years 
older than his wife, in her hair silver threads were appear- 
ing among the gold. 

As they looked at the little one, they were filled with hope 
for his future; and as he grew from babyhood to early man- 
hood they gave him much loving care, for he was always a 




frail child. Often his life was despaired of, and only the 
skill of his father, and the loving care of his mother kept 
him from passing to that bourne from which no traveler re- 
turns. 

He entered school at an early age to begin preparation for 
his life work — that of winning souls to Christ. He was at- 
tentive and studious during the many years of his school life 
and at last the time came when he was to graduate from the 
Seminary and return home for a short visit before entering 
his chosen profession — the ministry. His mother went about 
giving a loving touch to everything about the house, for was 
not Walter coming today? His father, now retired from 
the practice of medicine, waited eagerly for the time when 
he should drive to the station to meet his long absent son. 

What a joyful moment it was in that home when, as an 
ordained minister of the gospel, their best loved son gave 
thanks at the table and led in family worship ; and how they 
enjoyed the long drives around the home town, pointing out 
to Walter the many changes that had taken place during his 
absence. They knew he must soon leave them again and go 
about the “King’s Business.’’ He had been promised a call 
from a western state. 

One day he went to his favorite fishing place on a rippling 
brook, where as a boy he had spent many happy hours swim- 
ming and catching sun perch. Forgetting for a time his 
high calling, he took off his shoes, waded out to a large rock 
in the middle of the stream and cast out his line. Such good 
luck attended him that time passed rapidly and he was in- 
tent only on baiting his hook for more fish. 

The sun shone hot on the water, but a large straw hat pro- 
tected his face, although his bare feet on the rock were be- 
coming a beautiful pink. The sound of a coming carriage 
reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw his father coming 
toward him holding in his hand a yellow envelope, which in- 
stantly called to his mind that he was a fisher of men. On 
opening the envelope, he found it to contain a telegram from 
a western man, asking him to come at once and take charge 
of a splendid little church in Illinois, and this was what 
brought his father out in the heat and dust to find him. 

Upon arising the next morning, our young minister found 
that his feet were blistered, but, being compelled to go to his 


charge, he procured a pair of carpet slippers and packed his 
shoes in his grip, remembering, as he bade his father good- 
bye at the station, that “Blessed are the feet of them that 
bring good tidings of great joy.” 

A very weary and dust covered young man alighted when 
the train rolled into the station. His youthful, almost femi- 
nine appearance astonished Deacon Algood, who was wait- 
ing to welcome him and take him to his own home, where 
his good wife was preparing a meal fit for a king for the 
new minister. 

After introducing himself as Walter Preston, and remark- 
ing that he was pleased to receive the call as their minister, 
he explained the necessity for his wearing carpet slippers. 
The good deacon was all sympathy, and hurried home, where, 
after a motherly welcome from Mrs. Algood, he removed his 
slippers, bathing his feet in cool water, while Mrs. Algood 
insisted on applying such simple remedies as she had at hand 
— sweet cream and baking soda. 

After partaking of the excellent supper which Mrs. Al- 
good had prepared, the deacon and his wife conversed with 
the young minister of the church and its needs, and were de- 
lighted that he so understood them. They offered him a 
home with them, which he gladly accepted. 

Being very tired, he retired early, and while he was sleep- 
ing and dreaming of his new charge, the deacon and his wife 
talked until far into the night, wondering how the young 
minister would take with the congregation. In appearance 
he was a mere boy, and his light hair, blue eyes and fair com- 
plexion made him appear several years younger than he was 
in reality — he being but twenty-two years of age. However, 
the president of the Bible College had recommended him as 
a man of winning personality and a fine speaker, so the call 
had been extended. The good deacon and his wife were re- 
minded of the lateness of the hour by the hall clock striking 
the midnight hour. The deacon read a chapter from the 
Bible and offered a prayer asking the Heavenly Father to 
help them to do all in their power to make the church all 
that it should be, and that the new minister might do a great 
work among them. 

Sunday morning dawned one of the fairest of days, and 
very fair indeed it seemed to Walter Preston, as, in company 


—9— 


with Deacon Algood, he went to the church to meet the peo- 
ple who came in crowds to worship and hear the new min- 
ister’s first sermon. Some of them could not hide their dis- 
appointment when they were introduced to a “mere boy,” 
and the faces of the elders, always solemn, grew more so. 

His feet were yet very tender and his shoes uncomfortably 
snug, but Walter Preston had a smile and a bright, cheery 
word for all as he took his place in the pulpit, facing the 
large and expectant congregation. After the opening pray- 
er, he arose to read his text. The fact that all eyes were 
centered on him, as well as the pain his feet were giving 
him, caused him to be seized with fear, and trembling great- 
ly, he opened his Bible and read, “Blistered are the feet of 
them who bring good tidings.” The deacon and his wife 
groaned in spirit for they were the only ones who knew of 
his temporary affliction. Several young people in the back 
of the church began to giggle, but when a pretty brown- 
eyed girl quickly frowned and plainly showed her disap- 
proval, they instantly became quiet and listened with grow- 
ing attention to the eloquent sermon which followed the 
slight mistake of the text. The theme of brotherly love 
found a resting-place in their hearts, and such handshaking 
and sweet fellowship followed the close of the service. All 
were loud in their praise of the sermon, and went away 
feeling a desire to make the stay of Walter Preston among 
them both pleasant and profitable. 

No one was more interested in the work of the church than 
pretty brown eyed Anna Chester. Her singing in the choir 
was not only helpful, but pleasing to the young pastor, who 
no doubt felt grateful to her for quieting the mirth of the 
young people, and overlooking the mistake in the reading of 
the scripture taken for his text in his first sermon. She was 
beloved bv all in the village, and it did not surprise those 
who had known and loved her from babyhood to find that 
the minister was very much in love with her before a year 
had passed. At the sewing society, where the latest news 
was dulv discussed, it was said that these two young people 
were admirably suited to each other. Sister Algood said 
“that Anna was by nature intended for a preacher’s wife,’’ 
and when her aunt, who was present, told them that Anna 
was already “promised,” there was general rejoicing, and 


— 10 — 


each felt proud that one of their girls had been chosen for 
a wife by the splendid young minister, whom they had all 
learned to love. Life just then was very fair and promising 
to the young couple. Her parents were well pleased, and his 
own gladly consented to his early marriage. 

Rev. Preston spent his first vacation visiting friends in 
Kansas. While there, he preached twice, and was so well 
liked by the congregation that they thought he would be the 
one to lead them to higher things and help build the new 
church, for which they were planning, so they decided to 
extend a call to him. 

As it was an advance in salary and a splendid field for a 
young man, he accepted the call, but great was the disap- 
pointment of the congregation at Bloomton when they 
learned they must give him up. 

He could not be persuaded to stay, so they gave him a fare- 
well reception, presenting him with a gold watch, and bade 
him Godspeed, and all prayed earnestly for his success in his 
new field. 

Walter Preston’s heart was saddened by the thought of 
leaving, for he did not realize how much they cared for him 
and he for them until he was ready to bid them good-by. But 
the thought that Anna Chester was willing to go with him 
and share his work comforted him. It was decided that he 
should return at Christmas time for his bride, so bidding 
farewell to all, he departed for his new field. 

Anna, impressed with the responsibility of becoming a 
minister’s wife, began to prepare her household linen, and 
to study her music more diligently. It was a real joy to at- 
tend the sewing society, for the ladies were making a nice 
quilt for Anna, and all their names were to be placed on it. 


— 11 — 


CHAPTER II. 
BUILDING A CHURCH. 


There were no more Christ-like people anywhere than 
those who comprised the congregation found at Ashton, 
when Rev. Walter Preston took charge. Their hearts over- 
flowed with love for one another. They welcomed the new 
pastor as their brother and leader, and received the news of 
his coming marriage with gladness, for they wished him to 
remain with them, and felt that he would be more apt to do 
so if he were married, and would be more successful in the 
work. 

Though meeting in a hall, great crowds came to hear the 
ever new story of Christ and His love, as told by the new 
minister. Rev. Preston was invited to make his home with 
Elder Peyton, and he was pleased to do so until a time when 
he should bring his bride and go to a home of his own. They 
treated him as their own son, and ever afterwards he referred 
to them as his second father and mother. He spent much 
time getting acquainted with the people outside, as well as 
within the church, and was well liked by all. When he re- 
turned with his bride at Christmas time, they found a cordial 
welcome awaiting them, also a number of useful and beauti- 
ful gifts. The good will and kindness of all recalled to his 
mind the time when the wise men came worshipping and 
bringing their gifts to the Babe in Bethlehem, who came +o 
bring “Peace on earth, good will to men.” 

Elder Peyton and his wife begged the minister to continue 
to make his home with them (for they were well pleased with 
his wife) so the young couple lived there for some time, and 
a very happy family it was. 

Surely no man ever undertook the building of a church 
under better conditions than did Rev. Walter Preston, and 
no one ever worked and preached more earnestly than he. 
The love and kindness of his people gave him strength to 
labor almost night and day. 

When funds ran low, he lectured in other towns, and gave 
the proceeds to the building fund. He gave much of his 
salary to the church, and with his own hands helped to lift 
the heavy timbers in place, with a strength not his own. His 
weight did not exceed 130 pounds, and it was a source of 


— 12 — 


great regret to him that he was not large and strong, that he 
might have more strength to use in the Master’s work. Much 
of the work on the new church was being done free by stone 
masons and carpenters — some of whom were not members of 
the church, but were glad to assist. Oftentimes they were 
forced to quit work for lack of material, and many sacrifices 
were made and much self-denial practiced; but they counted 
it all joy, so great was their love for Christ and the unsaved 
in their midst. It was truthfully said of them that they 
found it “More blessed to give than to receive,” excepting 
when some gift was received for the new church. 

Mrs. Preston was not idle all this time. She was visiting 
the sick, and using her beautiful, well trained soprano voice 
in singing sweet songs at every service, endearing herself to 
the people; and her presence was ever an inspiration to her 
husband. 

It was not long until such faithful work by pastor and 
congregation was rewarded, and donations came from unex- 
pected sources. 

The hall where services were held was only one block from 
the new church site, and they saw each Lord’s day when they 
came to worship, the walls of the church rising higher and 
higher. Finally a well-built, handsome church stood com- 
pleted and ready for use, to be dedicated to the work of 
Christ. 

As they looked upon the new church, all their trials and 
troubles faded away, and they were filled with a feeling of 
thankfulness that God had so prospered them in their under- 
taking. Judge Latham, one of the elders, and one of the 
most helpful through all the past days, presented them with 
a silver communion service, for use in the new church. A 
fine organ was sent by an unknown friend. A happier peo- 
ple could not be found than those assembled the day of the 
dedication. A debt of one thousand dollars still remained to 
be paid, but they were sure that it would be no burden to 
them. They had Christ for their leader, and were ready to 
follow where He might lead. 

Not long after the church was finished and plans for a 
great meeting were maturing, a mantle of sorrow overspread 
the entire congregation, caused by the sickening of the aged 
parents of their beloved pastor. On their behalf the church 


13 


in the old home town extended him a call to become then 
minister. His father and mother begged him to return, for 
they wished him to be near them during the short time they 
knew was theirs on earth. Rev. Preston accepted the call, 
and to soften the sorrow of his people in Ashton, he prom- 
ised that some time in the future he would return to serve 
them and the church he loved so well. 


4 


— 14 — 


CHAPTER III. 


CHARITY TEMPLETON. 

The voice singing was that of a noted tenor soloist, and 
leader of song in the revival meetings held in the new church 
lately built by the Christian people of Ashton. As the song 
ended, the earnest evangelist said, “Is there not one more 
who will come now and let Christ be his Shepherd, ‘For they 
that follow Me shall never perish, and no one shall pluck 
them out of my hand,’ ” saith the Lord Jesus. 

A pale, sweet-faced girl came forward. He took her hand, 
saying, “God will bless you for taking this step,” as he took 
her confession. She was very fair. Her head was crowned 
with a mass of beautiful golden-brown hair, and her eyes 
were blue-gray. 

Such was Charity Templeton, as we see her for the first 
time. Her mother died when she was fourteen years old, 
leaving to her care a baby brother. The mother’s last words 
to Charity were, “Take care of Arthur and be a good girl.” 

Never was there a better daughter to her grief stricken 
father. She gave up school and assumed all care of Baby 
Arthur and the household. Her father was not very strong, 
for he suffered from the effects of a wound received during 
the Civil War. He had served three years as captain of a 
company of splendid men, most of whom had been friends of 
his boyhood. His health finally became so poor that he was 
obliged to retire from business, leaving his affairs in the 
hands of his trusted partner, who, owing to the extravagant 
ways of his wife, who was very fond of society, and, in order 
that she might entertain her wealthy friends in her home, he 
embezzled most of the money that came in, and, by making 
false entries, everything appeared all right. Captain Tem- 
pleton never thought of questioning his honesty, but a friend 
who knew of their extravagant mode of living, persuaded 
him to investigate. The guilty man threw himself at the 
Captain’s feet, and begged for mercy, saving that if nothing 
was said about the affair, he would spend the balance of his 
da s to repay him. 


— 1 5 — 


Captain Templeton granted the privilege, and the facts 
were not told. Whether from a sense of guilt, or from over- 
work in trying to keep up the expenses of his family, the un- 
fortunate man was stricken with a fever and lived only a few 
days. 

The loss of his money was a great blow to Captain Tem- 
pleton, for he knew he must soon leave Charity and Arthur 
alone in the world, with barely enough to keep them and 
educate Arthur. Charity tried to cheer him, saying she 
could do all the housework, and manage things so they 
would never come to want, until Arthur’s education was 
finished, and he would be able to take charge. It was not 
long until her father’s sudden death left Charity to care for 
herself and Arthur as best she could. Charity missed her 
father greatly, but looked to her Heavenly Father for com- 
fort and guidance. Her father left a fine library, and all her 
spare time was devoted to study, that she might be of more 
help to Arthur, who was now in school. She possessed a re- 
markable talent for drawing which she cultivated, and was 
able to help pay expenses by teaching a class in drawing and 
painting. She loved the church, and the people, and was 
never so happy as when she was helping in some church 
work. No c*all for service was ever refused by her, whether 
it was to toil over a hot stove preparing a dinner to help pay 
the pastor’s salary, or teach the dear, but restless, little ones 
in the Sunday School. 


— 16 — 


CHAPTER IV. 
SISTER TRIGSBY. 


The strains of “Turkey in the Straw” on a violin was ac- 
companied by the tones of a wheezy old organ. Torches 
lighted up the platform of the new park of Ashton. A dance 
■was being given in honor of the opening of the park, which 
lasted far into the “wee small hours.” 

Among those who never seemed to tire, and were seen in 
every set, was Sister Macum, whose snapping black eyes 
gave almost as much light as the dim torches temporarily 
placed among the trees around the platform. 

The name “Sister” was the only one given her. She was 
the baby and only girl in the home of widow Macum. When 
she was just learning to 'walk and talk, such commands from 
mother as “Give Sister your top,” or “Give her those marbles 
this minute,” or “Don’t you dare to cross Sister,” caused the 
neighbors to take up the name “Sister.” She always had her 
way in everything. While her mother worked, she slept the 
day following the dance at the park, and was ready when 
evening came, to attend a party given in honor of a friend’s 
birthday. While she was arranging her hair, her brother 
came in from his work as an apprentice at the foundry. He 
remonstrated with her, saying, “It does look like you would 
stop dancing long enough to sleep and eat.” “I would rath- 
er dance than eat any old time,” she said, and, seeing her best 
beau, George Trigsby, coming in at the gate, she grabbed her 
pink ice wool fascinator and, calling, “Don’t come in, we will 
be late,” she vanished, leaving the boys and her mother to 
their never ending argument concerning her approaching 
marriage to young Trigsby. “You know she will never get 
along with him,” her eldest brother said, to which his moth- 
er replied, “Oh, well, she wants him, and I will not object.” 

In due time, young Trigsby became the husband of Sister 
Macum. As she had never done any housework, and the 
thought of it was displeasing to her, they made their home 
with her mother. After two years of great unhappiness for 
both, they drifted apart and George Trigsby found work in 
another city, where he was taken seriously ill. He grew 

— 17 — 


worse rapidly, but in his conscious moments, he begged 
them to send for his wife. The word was sent at once, but 
she refused to come. When told by the physician that the 
end was near, he asked them again to send for his wife, say- 
ing that he wished to see her once more before he died. So 
unforgiving was her nature that she again refused to go to 
her husband. He died alone, save for the strangers who so 
kindly cared for him, and gave him a Christian burial. 

Not long after young Trigby’s death, the widow Macum 
inherited a considerable amount of money, and her days of 
hard work ended. She found herself possessed of a great 
deal of spare time, and concluded to return to the church. 
After much persuasion, Sister Trigsby went with her moth- 
er. The congregation were glad to receive the mother back 
again, and Sister Trigsby decided that she would unite with 
the church. When she learned that the Church Board 
wished to borrow some money, she persuaded her mother to 
loan them the amount at good interest, the principal to be 
paid at no definite date. 

Socially, they arose in the eyes of the official board, who 
did not know of Sister Trigsby’s burning desire to rule. 
People accepted her mother’s story that she married a drunk- 
ard and at his death decided to devote the remainder of her 
life to church work. They felt sorry for her, and, learning 
that she knew something of music, they invited her to play 
the organ. She insisted that the choir meet at her home for 
practice, which they did. She next took charge of the affairs 
of the young people, including their courtships. If there 
was to be a social, she had it held at her home, and those who 
knew the family said that the best cakes were set aside, and 
they had cake on the table for several days after. 

Before Sister Trigsby united with the church, the Junior 
Endeavor Society had adopted an orphan in India, for whose 
education they agreed to pay a stated sum each year. The 
president of the society, Miss Ethel Bellew, wished he 
orphan to be given the name of the pastor’s wife, but Sister 
Trigsby, who wanted to rule in all things, managed to have 
the little orphan given her name. 

About this time, Bro. Smith was called as a missionary 
to Cuba, leaving the Ashton church without a pastor. Bro. 
Preston’s parents had died, and he wished to come back to 


— 18 — 


his former charge. All the old members were greatly re- 
joiced at the thought of having him with them, and gladly 
welcomed him back. 

When Bro. Preston returned, after an absence of several 
years, he found great changes had taken place in the congre- 
gation. Some had died, some had moved away, the children 
had grown up — but the most disappointing thing of all was 
that the mortgage still hung over the church. He decided 
that the mortgage must be lifted. Under his leadership, 
they renewed their efforts to clear the church of debt. 


— 19 — 


CHAPTER V. 
THE POOR WIDOW. 


There was great joy in the hearts of the members of the 
Sunshine Circle when their part of the money to pay off the 
mortgage was safely deposited in the First National Bank 
of Ashton. A nice little sum yet remained in the treasury, 
and Sister Trigsby suggested that a silkaline comfort be 
made and presented to Mrs. Preston, with the compliments 
of the Sunshine Circle, as a nice way to end their year’s 
work. The ladies met at the home of Sister Trigsby and 
made the comfort. Sister Trigsby sent it by a special mes- 
senger to Mrs. Preston, with a card bearing her name. 

A few days after this, Charity called on her dear friend, 
Mrs. Hulings, and found her very sad. Her next door neigh- 
bor had been over and told her that Mrs. Wilson, a poor 
widow who worked for her, had sent word that her five 
months old baby had pneumonia, and the doctor had forbid- 
den her to do any more washing for a time, as the steam was 
not good for the child. She depended on what she earned at 
the tub to support herself and three children, the oldest 
being but eight years of age. Her husband had been killed 
less than a year before in a western town, while defending an 
orphan boy, who was being abused by a drunken man. She 
was left almost penniless, among strangers, a short time be- 
fore the birth of the baby. She was a brave little woman, 
and a good mother; she returned to Ashton, where she owned 
a small two room house, and resolved to keep her children 
with her. 

As the two friends talked of the widow’s sad condition, 
they wondered if she had bed clothing sufficient to keep 
them warm. Charity said, “I think our ladies of the Circle 
would be glad to make and give her some warm comforts.” 
“How kind of you to think of it, I am sure they would,” said 
Mrs. Hulings. “Didn’t you see the one they gave to Mrs. 
Preston? It certainly was a beauty.” Charity could have no 
peace of mind until she called on the President of the Circle, 
and related the sad story of Mrs. Wilson. The President 
thought it the very thing to do, and said that at their next 


— 20 — 


meeting she would suggest that the proceeds of their last 
social should be given to the widow as a thank offering. It 
was near that time of the year, and it would be a nice way 
to end the most prosperous year in the history of the Sun- 
shine Circle. Charity went home with a glad heart, think- 
ing what a pleasant surprise it would be for Mrs. Wilson. 

On her way to town a few days later, she met Sister 
Trigsby and told her of the proposed plan to help Mrs. Wil- 
son, thinking she would be only too glad to assist in the good 
work. Charity was greatly astonished when Sister Trigsby 
said, with a look of displeasure on her face, “It won’t do at 
all.” “Why,” said Charity, “it is the very thing we should 
be interested in — to help the widows and orphans, and she 
certainly needs help just now.” Sister Trigsby tightened 
her lips — a way she had when someone suggested something 
which did not happen to meet with her approval. “Well, it 
will not do at all, it might make Mrs. Briggs angry,” and 
without another word she passed on, leaving Charity to won- 
der why an act of kindness should offend the only living 
relative of Mrs. Wilson’s husband. Mrs. Briggs was his sis- 
ter, and did all she could to lighten the burden of care which 
had so suddenly fallen on the young mother. Charity had 
met her at the Circle, and liked her pleasant ways, and had 
been told what great friends she and Sister Trigsby had 
been for many years. Since her brother’s tragic death, Mrs. 
Briggs had not attended church or the Circle meetings. This 
fact, together with the thought that surely a gift of money 
in the Master’s name should not offend her, caused Charity 
to call on Mrs. Briggs and tell her of the good intentions of 
the women. She found Mrs. Briggs sewing on a dress for 
her oldest daughter, which made it easy to talk to her of her 
brother’s family. In a nice way, Charity told her of the plan 
of the Circle to help them through the baby’s illness. 

Mrs. Briggs burst into tears, and it was some time before 
she became quiet enough to talk. Charity tried hard to keep 
her own tears back, and frequently was overcome with 
emotion. Finally, between great sobs, Mrs. Briggs said, “I 
do think it is very kind of them, and she will appreciate it, 
but not more than I, for I thought they had forgotten me in 
my time of trouble. It will be received in the spirit in which 
it is given, for it is a Christian act; and I am so glad, for it 


— 21 — 


renews my faith in them who had almost caused me to be- 
lieve that there were no Christians, as ‘actions speak louder 
than words.’ I was one of the charter members of the 
church, and, having no relatives except my one dear brother, 
I always thought that should troubles come to me my friends 
in the church would be a great help to me with their kind 
words and sympathy, but” — a fresh burst of tears, which it 
seemed to the now thoroughly astonished Charity never 
would cease — “that is where I was mistaken, for they never 
came near, nor asked how we were, and but a very few at- 
tended the funeral of my dear and only brother. The rail- 
road men could not have been kinder, and the people of the 
town tried in every way to make our sorrow lighter, but tlVe 
great call of my heart was unanswered. Why did not some 
of my friends in the church write a letter or send a word of 
sympathy? The way Sister Trigsby treated me hurt me 
most of all, for she had always said she loved me as a sister, 
and I believed her, and was always glad to do what she asked 
me to do in the days now past and gone forever. I can’t de- 
scribe my feelings when the train came into the depot, and 
she was not there to meet me. I never knew how it felt to 
be all alone before. All my blessed friendships are shatter- 
ed through no fault of mine. More than a week had passed 
when one day someone knocked at my door. I answered, 
and there was Sister Trigsby and her mother. Both said at 
once, ‘Oh, how sorry we feel that you have had such great 
trouble,’ and Sister Trigsby attempted to kiss me. I stepped 
back and said, ‘You hypocrites, to come now, after so long a 
time, and say you are sorry. I don’t believe it. You were 
having too good a time at the Christmas bazaar to attend my 
brother’s funeral, or send a word of sympathy. Don’t you 
ever say you are my friend again.’ Mrs. Trigsby leaned 
heavily on her mother, saying, ‘Take me away, Mamma, take 
me away!’ Since then not one of my old church friends has 
ever called on me, not even Brother Preston. They care for 
us only when we can give them money.” 

Charity arose to depart, fully understanding Sister Trigs- 
by’s reason for opposing the plan to help Mrs. Wilson, and, 
feeling that this kindness would restore some of the old feel- 
ing to the heart of Mrs. Briggs, was glad she had thought of 
and proposed it. She resolved in her mind that hereafter, 


— 22 — 


she would have more concern for those in sorrow. As fol- 
lowers of Jesus, we must not neglect those who have lost 
their loved ones by death, putting aside all pleasure, or leave 
other church work undone to minister at such times. 

But a short time remained for the last social of the year. 
Charity received a call from the President of the Circle one 
day, who informed her that they had given up the idea of 
giving the proceeds of the social to Mrs. Wilson. When 
asked why she had changed her mind, she said Mrs. Macum 
had spent the afternoon with her the day before, and had dis- 
couraged the plan by telling of the great numbers of times 
that the Circle had gotten into trouble in the past by doing 
just such things. On that account, she had decided not to 
mention it at the next meeting — that she would be afraid to 
take anything to Mrs. Wilson if it should be left at her 
house, for fear of offending Mrs. Briggs, who, Mrs. Macum 
had told her, was very high tempered, and was already mad 
at all the church people. Mrs. Macum said if Mrs. Wilson 
got badly in want, they would give a pound party for her, 
and then maybe Mrs. Briggs would swallow her pride and 
come down off of her “high-horse.” 

Charity was speechless with indignation at the clever way 
in which Mrs. Macum had spoiled their plan for helping the 
poor woman. She wondered what her dear friend, Mrs. 
Huling, would think abuot it, and thought what a sad blow 
it would be to the renewed faith of Mrs. Briggs. 

At last, with such a look on her face such as the President 
never saw there before, Charity said, “Well, I must say you 
are a pretty Christian.” 

That same evening, Charity visited Mrs. Huling, and ex- 
plained the change in the President’s mind, saying, “We 
will have to give it up and think of some other way to help 
her.” “We can’t,” said Mrs. Huling. “We can’t. So many 
have offered to help, and my neighbor is going to ask her 
Catholic friends to help. What can we say to them — that 
our Christian women refuse to help a poor widow? I never 
did like Sister Trigsby’s way of running everything, any- 
way. They gave Mrs. Preston a nice present, and they shall 
do as much for Mrs. Wilson. I am from Missouri, and they 
will have to show me. If the President won’t mention it in 


— 23 — 


the Circle, I will. Sister Trigsby can’t run me. Are you 
willing to help? If you don’t, you are no Christian.” 

Charity said she felt it would make trouble, if they op- 
posed anything suggested by Sister Trigsby, or her mother, 
but she thought it was right to go ahead and help the 
orphans, and receive the reward of the Heavenly Father. 

When the Circle met, no reference was made to the plan 
of assisting Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Huling had quietly ar- 
ranged with the members who wished to help that if the 
President did not mention it, she would make a motion to 
hold a social, or give a supper, and give the proceeds to Mrs. 
Wilson. So, with wildly beating hearts, they waited their 
opportunity. All business was finished, and refreshments, 
consisting of cake and coffee, for which the ladies always 
paid ten cents, were ready in Sister Corwin’s pretty home- 
like dining room. Mrs. Macum came in, saying, “The coffee 
is ready ladies, so hurry out.” Then, Mrs. Huling arose and 
said: “Ladies, there is something I wish to bring before you,” 
and in a low, distinct voice, she told them of the sad need 
of Mrs. Wilson and her children. Many of them had heard 
of it before, and their eyes filled with tears, and their hearts 
overflowed with sympathy. “Now, ladies, I am going to 
make a motion that our Circle give a social or dinner for her 
benefit.” So eager were they to assist in such a good cause 
that instantly there were several seconds to the motion, and, 
when the vote was taken, all favored it with the exception of 
the President and Sister Trigsby, who sat with a look of 
genuine surprise on their faces. Mrs. Macum, who was al- 
ready standing, seeing the turn affairs had taken, took hold 
of her apron, and waving it at them, said, “Shoo, shoo, if 
you don’t go right now, your coffee will be cold.” Someone 
said, “Just let it cool, we intend to stay right here until this 
matter is settled.” 

In a few moments all arrangements were completed, ex- 
cept the time and place of holding it. Sister Trigsby, having 
recovered from her astonishment, said, “I should like to 
know where you ladies intend to hold your social, you can’t 
have the church, and where will you get a house?” She knew 
that many of them lived in small cottages. Dear old Sister 
Corwin said, “Right here, you can have my house, and I will 
do all I can to help, for I am so sorry for her, the poor dear.” 


— 24 — 


They were all ready to do something with the exception of 
the President, Mrs. Macum and Sister Trigsby. 

The principal of the large ward school near Charity’s 
home, asked the privilege of soliciting the teachers, and a 
neat sum was given, which she gave to Charity with expres- 
sions of sympathy. 

One good woman gave a turkey and celery enough to sup- 
ply the tables, if they should decide to serve a dinner. 

Mrs. Macum was not idle in trying to defeat their purpose. 
She went around making remarks about them, saying, “The 
very idea of such poor folks helping the poor.” She went to 
see Rev. Preston, and told him of the plan, saying, “Mrs. 
Wilson is in good circumstances, and does not need any- 
thing, but Charity and Mrs. Huling are doing it only for 
spite, as they hope to break up the Circle.” 

The next Sunday, when Charity approached Mrs. Pres- 
ton, with the intention of telling her the plan to serve a 
supper in the basement of the church, and to ask that Bro. 
Preston announce it at the evening service, she said, “Sister 
Preston, I wished to say that” — she stopped short, for Sister 
Trigsby, without even speaking to her, took hold of Mrs. 
Preston’s arm, saying, “Excuse me, Sister Preston, I must 
speak to you a minute.” Taking her by the arm, she led her 
aside, leaving Charity with the unfinished sentence on her 
lips. 

She waited until their conversation was ended, when she 
again approached Mrs. Preston, and told her of the plan for 
the dinner. Charity was much surprised at the indifference 
of Mrs. Preston, who said, “Oh, can’t you postpone it, or get 
a private house. I am afraid it will make too much going on 
at the church.” She did not say that she would tell Mr. 
Preston. Mrs. Menton overheard what Mrs. Preston said to 
Charity, and knew it was some of Sister Trigsby’s work. 
She told Mr. Preston about it, and said if they did not let 
them have the church, they would announce it in the daily 
paper. He was much disturbed, and said they should have 
the church, and he and his wife would do all they could. 
He said he would make the announcements when they were 
ready. 

Charity did not go to church that evening, so Rev. Preston 
wrote her a note, which Mrs. Menton promised to deliver 


— 25 — 


early the next morning; but she put it in the Hymn Book 
and forgot all about it. 

A few days later, Charity met Mr. Scalem, the treasurer. 
After the usual greeting, he said, “I hear you and some 
others think of giving a dinner for the benefit of Mrs. Wil- 
son. Now, that is a nice thing to do, but if I were you I 
would not make it a church affair.” Whereupon, Charity 
explained that nothing was asked of the church people, as 
she knew paying the mortgage was a great burden to them. 
Bro. Scalem put his hand into his pocket, and drew forth a 
ten cent piece, which he gave to Charity, who silently re- 
ceived it, mentally calling it the widow’s mite, for she knew 
he had given one hundred dollars toward paying off the 
mortgage. “How true it is,” she mumured, “ 'The poor ye 
have always with you, but me ye have not !* ” 

The next one to discourage her was the President of the 
Circle, who said, “They ought to hold their social at the 
home of Mrs. Wilson, as no one would care to go anyway,” 
and, if she were they, she would not say that the ladies of 
the church had anything to do with it. This was the last 
straw, and Charity began to think their work was all in vain. 

On her way home, she called at the home of Mrs. Tindall, 
whose husband was foreman of the big railroad shops. He 
persuaded her to give up the idea of a dinner, and call on the 
business men, assuring her that he would see all the men in 
his employ. Charity decided to accept his advice to ask the 
editor of the Ashton Daily News, who was not a member of 
any church, for a donation. Although the son of a Methodist 
minister, Mr. Watson was noted for his unbelief, also for 
his willingness to assist the poor. 

Charity had some trouble in persuading Mrs. Huling to 
agree to giving up the plan for the dinner, but she finally 
consented, and, early the next morning, she and Charity 
started for the office of the Daily News, intending to ask 
the editor for a donation, and to mention the case of Mrs. 
Wilson, so, when the committee called on the business men, 
they would know that the case was one worthy of their 
sympathy. 

As the two friends went on their way, they felt greatly 
humiliated at being forced to turn from those who should 
hear the cry of the orphan, to ask help of an unbeliever. “I 


— 26 — 


wonder what he would say if he knew how we happened to 
come to him for help,” said Mrs. Huling. 

Just then they saw Rev. Preston coming up the street. 
“Oh,” said Mrs. Huling, “here comes Bro. Preston, what 
shall we do?” “Why, speak to him of course,” said Charity, 
“we are not angry with anyone, only disappointed.” After 
greeting them, he stopped in front of them, barring their 
way, and said, “Where are you ladies going?” Charity, 
ignorant of the story that had been told him, and not wish- 
ing to explain their errand, said, “Oh, we are just going out 
to do some good, kind act,” and attempted to pass on. He 
did not move, but said, “I should like to know where you are 
going.” “Well,” said Charity, “if you must know, we are 
going down to the News office.” Rev. Preston became great- 
ly excited, and said, “Now, Sister Templeton, that is all spite 
work,” and in his excitement he took hold of Charity’s arm. 
“Surely,” he said, “you are not going to say anything about 
the church; you must do as I say.” 

For a minute, Charity could not believe her own ears, and 
thought that even Bro. Preston did not want them to get 
money for the poor widow. Why did he change his mind, 
when he had told them only a few days before that it was all 
right, and he wanted to help, too. Charity tried to explain, 
but he would not listen, becoming more and more excited. 
She tried to release her arm, but he kept hold of her, saying, 
“You shall do as I say. You know I told you in the first 
place not to make it a church affair.” 

Charity lost all patience, and said very earnestly. “Well, 
Brother Preston, I did think if there were any good people 
on earth it was you and Sister Preston, but when a preacher 
gets so wrapped up in burning a mortgage that he does not 
want a social given in the church for the benefit of a poor 
widow and her litle ones, he not only ought to burn the 
mortgage, but the church also, for the people do not need it. 
If good people like you will not help me, where will I go for 
help, if not to Mr. Watson, and to him I am going.” 

With an effort, Charity freed her arm, and, turning, saw 
Mr. Watson approaching, drawn by the crowd which had 
gathered to listen to Rev. Preston and Charity. When Rev. 
Preston saw the editor approaching, he hurriedly departed. 


— 27 — 


Greatly excited, Charity rushed up to Mr. Watson and 
poured forth her story almost incoherently. Mr. Watson, 
listened politely and patiently. When she had finished, 
he very calmly said, “Now, what is it you wish me to do? If 
you wish to give the dinner, I will secure a hall free of 
charge, and print anything you wish. I am sure you are 
right, and the people will think so, too. You may have the 
whole paper if you want it. The News is yours.” 

Mrs. Huling afterward said, in telling of the nice manner 
in which Mr. Watson talked to Charity, it reminded her of 
someone trying to comfort a child. 

Mr. Watson produced his check book and filled out a 
check, which he handed to Charity. When she saw his note- 
book and pencil, as he held them awaiting her orders, she 
said, “It was not to disparage the church that we came to 
you. We just want you to mention the worthiness of Mrs. 
Wilson in your paper.” He wrote a short notice of what 
they were trying to do, not mentioning the church in con- 
nection with it. Charity thanked him, assuring him that she 
would not forget his kindness. 

Mrs. Huling, thinking it was time for the children to re- 
turn from school, returned home, leaving Charity to cash 
the check. On the way home she met Rev. Preston, and ex- 
plained the whole affair to him, saying that if anyone were 
to blame, it was Sister Trigsby who, out of selfish reasons, 
had opposed them from, the start. He was much disturbed 
lest something would appear in the paper concerning it, 
and said, “What would we do if Sister Trigsby were to leave 
the church. It would spoil our choir.” 

When Charity heard what Rev. Preston had said, she was 
indignant, and felt that he should apologize for accusing 
her of spite work and creating a scene on the street. She 
said that if he did not apologize, she would never go to hear 
him preach again. 

Conflicting stories were afloat concerning the affair. One 
of the elders, hearing of Rev. Preston’s actions, said that he 
must be on the verge of nervous prostration. Some thought 
that the facts should appear in the Daily News. To this. 
Charity would not agree. She felt that Rev. Preston would 
explain the reasons for his accusations, and, on hearing that 
he was sick, she was sure that he felt as badly as she did 


— 28 - 


about it; and decided that she would go to his home and ask 
for an explanation. She found him able to be up, and Sister 
Preston explained his illness by saying that he had eaten too 
much at a recent wedding supper. 

Charity, knowing that Mrs. Huling had told him the true 
state of affairs, said, “Brother Preston, I came to ask why 
you accused me of spite work in the matter of assisting Mrs. 
Wilson.” “I never said anything of the kind,” he replied 
petulantly. Charity was greatly surprised, and began to 
think the elder was right — Rev. Preston was surely suffering 
from overwork and worry in trying to raise sufficient money 
to pay off the mortgage. A wave of pity filled her heart. 
He continued. “You and Sister Huling did wrong; you had 
no business to try to do a thing like that in the church. 

“I have more weddings and am called upon to preach more 
funerals than any other minister in town. I came here from 
a fine church to pay off the mortgage. I knew if I did not, 
it would never be paid. I love the church — I built it, and 
when I returned, I found it looking like a negro shanty — I 
say just like a negro shanty, with that old carpet.” 

He then told Charity of the work he had done in the way 
of repairs, which she knew was true. “Do you know, Sister 
Templeton, that if two hundred and fifty people left the 
church, it would make no difference?” Charity listened, 
thinking he must be mad to make such a statement, and did 
not attempt a reply. “Sister Templeton, when did you join 
the church?” “During the Updike meeting,” she replied. 
“Yes, and I am even now paying for that meeting,” he said, 
becoming more excited. “Mr. Watson will not print any- 
thing about this — he thinks too much of me. You know he 
didn’t take any stock in Carrie Nation.” 

Charity looked at the minister, and thought to herself, 
“this is not craziness — it is pure meanness.” His whole ap- 
pearance was that of a spoiled child having a tantrum when 
refused its wish about anything. Pity was displaced by stern- 
ness, as she replied, “Don’t deceive yourself; Mr. Watson 
does not think any more of you than any other minister.” 
His reference to the advocate of the hatchet had aroused all 
the resentment in her nature. Just then, Mrs. Preston said: 
“Who is Mr. Watson, anyway? He is the meanest man in 
this town — he is so mean that he would not be allowed to 


— 29 — 


live in any other place, but because he edits a paper, he has 
the whole town under his thumb.” Charity could not help 
admiring the beauty of her brown eyes filled with unspeak- 
able anger, but she replied in a quiet, earnest voice, “I do 
not know what kind of a man he is, but he has a kind heart, 
for he gave us ten dollars, and said he would print anything 
we wished. Is it any worse for a man to have the whole 
town under his thumb than for one woman to have the whole 
church under hers?” 

Sister Preston’s eyes grew large with astonishment: “He 
gave you ten dollars!” she gasped. For a few minutes, in- 
tense stillness prevailed, broken at last by Rev. Preston, 
saying, as he reached out and took Charity’s hand, “Forgive 
me, I was too hasty. I always was, and have been in trouble 
many times on account of it.” His appearance was that of a 
lately transplanted flower wilted by the sudden appearance 
of the sun on a cloudy day. Charity, knowing that others 
were more to blame for all the trouble than he, instantly for- 
gave him. 

Mrs. Preston arose, and, going to Charity, began removing 
her hat, saying, “You must stay for dinner with us, and we 
will talk to you as if you were one of our own family, of 
some of the trials we must endure.” For an hour Charity 
listened as they told of the trials of a minister’s family — 
how they most move from one place to another, never having 
any permanent home, not forming any friendships like 
others on account of the petty jealousies in most congrega- 
tions. Mrs. Preston told her how a preacher’s wife was criti- 
cized— her personal appearance, her housekeeping, her chil- 
dren’s conduct; and she was expected to do more work in the 
church than other women, though really having less time. 

Mrs. Preston told her how a minister must always wear a 
smiling face, and always be cheerful, no matter how badly 
he might feel; and many other difficulties encountered by a 
minister of the Gospel. 

As Charity listened, she compared their experiences with 
the life of joy and peace that heretofore she had always 
supposed was the common lot of preacher’s families. She 
looked at Mrs. Preston, then at her husband’s sorrowful 
countenance, and could scarcely believe it was the same 
Brother and Sister Preston that she had been accustomed 


— 30 — 


to see at church, always with smiling faces. Charity asked 
this question, “Why do you stay in the ministry?” “Why,” 
replied Brother Preston, “the joy I experience hearing men 
and women make the good confession compensates me for all 
the trials connected with the work.” 

Charity had learned much by this interview, and resolved 
to ever after be a friend of the minister and his family. 

The next day, Charity, worn out with the nervous excite- 
ment she had experienced, noticed a number of gray hairs 
in her head. She knew it was not age, but the worry she had 
encountered in church work during the past few weeks. 

In making his announcements the following Sunday, Rev. 
Preston said, “There is one more, and that some of you 
know about. I refer to the effort made by some ladies to 
help a poor widow. That is a fine thing to do, and I hope 
you will give liberally when they call upon you. Two of 
these women are members of our church — Mrs. Huling and 
Charity Templeton, and” — he seemed to grow taller as he 
continued — “I am proud of the fact that they are.” 

There was standing room only that night. Sister Trigsby 
sat at the organ facing the audience, a look of triumph on 
her face, which changed to one of mingled astonishment and 
rage during the announcements. As Rev. Preston finished 
speaking, she hid her ashen face behind the top of the 
organ. The President of the Circle shrank nearer the wall, 
and looked so pale that Charity thought she was going to 
faint, as Rev. Preston read the text, “The Lord loveth a 
cheerful giver.” 

As usual, the audience sat spellbound at the eloquence of 
his sermon, the closing words of which were : “Pure and un- 
defiled religion before God, the Father, is to visit the wid- 
ows and orphans in their affliction.” 

He then asked the choir to sing that beautiful song which 
we all know and love: “Scatter Sunshine.” 

The next morning Charity received a call from the Presi- 
dent of the Circle. She said there was five dollars in the 
treasury, which they might give to the widow. Charity ad- 
vised her to put it with the mortgage funds, as they had de- 
cided to raise the money among the business men. She had 
been appointed to see them, and as she went from place to 
place, she was made glad by the way they found time to 


—31 


speak words of sympathy. Each one gave liberally. One 
merchant took out his pocketbook and gave her every cent it 
contained. She came to the conclusion that the best men in 
the world were the business men of Ashton. The sum raised 
was sufficient to supply the needs of the widow’s family for 
some time. 

Charity and Mrs. Huling went to the home of Mrs. Wil- 
son and gave her the money, with the messages of sympathy 
spoken by the givers. 

Mrs. Wilson did not know of their efforts in her behalf, 
and was greatly surprised. She was moved to tears, and 
said she wished all could know how thankful she was for 
their help, and what a load they had lifted from her heart. 


— 32 — 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE MASQUERADE PARTY. 

Some time had passed since there had been a social affair at 
the church, so Sister Trigsby suggested, for a change, that 
they have a surprise party on the pastor, and, to make it 
more enjoyable, that each one select a costume suitable for 
the occasion, and make it a masquerade party. For fear of 
of frightening the children, Mrs. Preston was taken into 
their confidence. 

On the appointed evening, all who were going assembled 
at the home of Mrs. Macum. Each lady was accompanied 
by a gentleman — in all, thirty couples. Deacon Howard, 
with powdered hair and knee breeches, as George Washing- 
ton, took the lead. His wife dressed as Carrie Nation, and 
carried a hatched made of heavy pasteboard, covered with 
tinfoil. 

All started for the home of the pastor. Arriving, they 
rang the door bell, which was answered by Rev. Preston, 
who stood speechless until his wife came to the rescue and 
invited the grotesque visitors to come in. He then realized 
that he was the victim of a surprise party. 

In came Deacon Howard. His wife, on entering the room, 
made a bee line to the glass bowl containing the gold fish, 
and raised her hatchet as though she would break it. 

Sister Stanley, as Topsy, pretended that she was going to 
kiss Bro. Scalem, who happened to be at the pastor’s house 
on business, but he beat a retreat upstairs, to the merriment 
of all present. Her husband dressed as a “dude,” and grace- 
fully twirled his cane. Sister Glenn, as Pocahontas, in a 
gayly colored blanket, and a cap of feathers on her head, 
assumed a comfortable position on the parlor floor. Her 
husband’s dress indicated that he had recently arrived from 
the Fatherland. 

Brother Van Allen, as Rip Van Winkle, next appeared, 
his wife dressed in a kimona languidly waving a fan, and her 
head protected from the beams of the moon by a tiny red 
umbrella. 


— 33 — 


When all were seated, they asked the pastor to guess who 
they were. He was very successful, in spite of the fact that 
all wore masks, which they removed as their names were 
called. Finally, all were unmasked except two ladies. He 
guessed Carrie Nation as Sister Trigsby, much to her dis- 
gust, as she was dressed in a plaid suit, with the mask of a 
beautiful doll face. 

Sister Preston served the fruit and cake, which the guests 
had brought with them, after which such old games as “Hide 
the Thimble,” “Fruit Basket” and “Pussy Wants a Corner” 
were played. 

As the hand of the clock on the mantel pointed the mid- 
night hour, they bade their hosts a pleasant goodnight, after 
which the pastor and his wife retired to the library, where 
they sat for a long time discussing the situation then pre- 
vailing in the church. Before retiring Rev. Preston decided 
to accept a call secretly extended to him from a church in 
Colorado. 

The congregation was much surprised and grieved the fol- 
lowing Sunday when the pastor told them of his plans. He 
said that because of an attack of hay fever his resignation 
would be immediate, as his physician had ordered him to seek 
a more suitable climate. 


H4 





CHAPTER VII. 

CALLING A NEW PASTOR. 

In selecting a new minister, many were asked to preach a 
trial sermon, and while those who preached did their best, 
the people seemed unusually hard to please. One stammer- 
ed, another was too old, and so on. It was not until Silas 
Holden came, more than three months after Rev. Preston’s 
departure, that they were entirely pleased. After hearing 
him preach, they declared him to be the very man for them, 
and immediately extended to him a unanimous call to be- 
come their minister. 

Silas Holden was a native of Kentucky, and a man with a 
strong personalit y radiating goodness, and a smile which 
one good sister described as “angelic.” He had great dark 
eyes that glowed with love for Christ’s work, and his voice, 
when speaking, possessed the soft Southern drawl, mingled 
with a ring of determination that spoke of Scottish ancestry. 

So pleased were the people with their choice, that the loss 
of Brother Preston grew less. Rev. Holden’s family con- 
sisted of a wife and two bright little girls. Preparations 
were soon on the way for a reception to the new pastor. 

The church was beautifully decorated with palms and 
blooming plants, and each tried to surpass the other in 
making their welcome a hearty one. 

Sister Trigsby managed, with the assistance of her able 
lieutenants, to see that Charity and Arthur were not placed 
on any of the committees having the reception in charge; 
and they were among the last to be introduced to the new 
pastor and his wife. 

The meeting between him and Arthur was like that of 
brothers long separated. To Charity, he said in his soft, 
Southern voice, ‘‘Sister Templeton, I know I shall like you. 
Was it not Oliver Wendell Holmes who said, when traveling 
in a strange land, that his heart leaped with joy when he 
met someone” — the remainder of the sentence fell on deaf 
ears, so far as Charity was concerned, for at that moment, 
Sister Trigsby, who stood near, cast such a look of intense 

— 35 — 


hatred in Charity’s direction as to cause her to forget the 
words of welcome she had intended to give the new pastor, 
so she hastily gave way to a late arrival. 

As Charity sought Arthur, with a heavy heart, she heard 
Sister Trigsby say, in relating the happening to her mother, 
in a voice so filled with scorn that Charity fairly trembled 
as she thought what the future held in store for her, “Well, 
did you ever?’’ “No, never,” replied Mrs. Macum, “that 
means that we must be more careful in the future.” 


— 36 — 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ICE CREAM SOCIAL. 


The young people were invited to hold their social meet- 
ings at the home of the pastor. While Mrs. Holden was 
visiting in the South, Rev. Holden was "learning the needs 
of the congregation that had given him such a hearty wel- 
come. 

The pastor invited the young people to hold their next 
ice cream social on his lawn, use the house as a dressing 
room, and prepare the refreshments in the dining-room. The 
young people were not used to Southern customs, so there 
was great excitement, and the news spread rapidly through 
the congregation. 

As it was their first opportunity to visit the pastor’s home, 
they decided to make it more of a reception than social. 

The lawn was beautifully lighted by gay Chinese lanterns, 
and the house, with its electric lights and cut flowers, was 
very inviting, so before eight o’clock, the lawn was filled 
with people. 

The wives of the elders and deacons, dressed in their silks 
and “best” white dresses, all wishing to make a favorable im- 
pression on the new pastor, who, living an earnest, Christian 
life, was surprised, but not impressed with their finery as 
much as they had hoped he would be. However, he proved 
an ideal host, and made everyone feel perfectly at ease. 

Sister Trigsb y and her mother, Mrs. Macum, and their 
friends were there prepared to make such a favorable im- 
pression on Rev. Holden as would cause him to think they 
were the very pillars of the church — in which they were ably 
assisted by their friends, who were always telling of their 
devotion to the work. 

Sister Trigsby was in charge of everything, including re- 
freshments, and all went merry as a marriage bell, until the 
arrival of Arthur Templeton, Charity’s brother, who was 
greatly liked by Rev. Holden. Sister Trigsb /’s spirits rose 
again when she saw that Charity was not with him, as she 
had already arranged that Charit ' should be misrepresented 

— 37 — 




CHARITY TEMPLETON. 



and kept in the background as much as possible ; and re- 
solved at this time, she would use all her energy to crowd 
her out of active work in the church. She well knew that 
Charity had a winning personality, and was glad she was 
absent. 

“Where is Charity, and why did she not come?” they asked 
of Arthur, whose devotion to his sister was the subject of 
much favorable comment among their friends, and attracted 
even the notice of strangers. 

Charity had complained of being very tired as an excuse 
to Arthur for not going, and, not changing her simple dress, 
was sitting on the porch of her pretty home, thinking of the 
nice time the people must be having. When told by her 
friends of the lovely ice cream and cake they would have, 
she felt that she could not enjoy it, as she had been made 
very unhappy by the manner in which Sister Trigsby’s 
friends had treated her. They were much disappointed that 
the pastor had invited her to sing in the choir, and the fact 
that Arthur was so well liked was another “thorn in the 
flesh.” 

As the evening was very warm, Charity decided to go over 
to the lawn and eat a dish of ice cream, of which she was 
very fond, and, thinking that she could slip quietly away 
without anyone seeing her, she did not change her dress, or 
re-arrange her hair. On arriving, and seeing the whole 
church, as it were, she was much embarrassed, and had not 
the host seen her, she would have returned to her home at 
once, but he hurried forward to greet her, and assured her 
that he had missed her. 

Charity went to a table where some of her friends were 
being served, feeling very much out of place in that beauti- 
fully dressed throng. She looked at her plain, simple dress 
of lawn, with its little faded flower of blue, and only one 
ruffle. It was one she had worn the year before. She re- 
solved to keep in the background, and leave for home 
soon. 

Charity’s arrival had been noticed by Mrs. Macum, who 
lost no time in informing Sister Trigsby. 

Charity was taken in charge by Deacon Mason and wife, 
whom she had known for many years, and taken to the 


— 39 — 


empty swing, where she was soon deeply interested in de- 
scribing to them a picture she was painting for their new 
home. When talking of her work, she did not notice how 
rapidly time passed. Soon Brother Holden came to tell 
them to be careful in swinging, as several young people had 
narrowly escaped being injured when the swing broke 
earlier in the evening. All three arose and said they had 
come there as it seemed to be the only place unoccupied, and 
did not know it was broken. Mrs. Mason said, “I was just 
saying to Charity, how glad I am that Henry and I joined 
the church, for he used always to spend his Sundays hunt- 
ing.” Brother Holden was interested on mention of the 
hunting on Sunday, and ever ready to be helpful to anyone, 
said he supposed if they would be careful and not swing, 
they might sit there without danger. Seating himself beside 
Charity, he began telling Brother Mason of the great harm 
done by young men hunting and fishing on Sunday. He said 
that he and his family were very fond of the sport, and spent 
their vacations camping, hunting and fishing. 

Mrs. Mason talked of various “housekeepy” things, so in- 
teresting to all housekeepers. 

Just then, they saw Mrs. Macum pass by. As she paused a 
moment, they offered her a seat, which she declined and 
passed on into the dining room, where they could see her 
talking to Sister Trigsby, whose mouth — always drawn — be- 
came an almost invisible line. Poor Charity’s heart sank, 
for she well knew from past experience that she was the ob- 
ject of their conversation. 

What should she do? As the others talked on and on, she 
sat and trembled, fearing to leave, yet wishing to go. She 
could not be so impolite as to leave in the midst of the pas- 
tor’s talk on foreign missions. It was a happy moment for 
her when Deacon Mason arose, and, looking at his watch, re- 
marked that it was time for them to go, as he must be at his 
office early the next morning. Saying that they had enjoyed 
the evening very much, and bidding Charity and the pastor 
good-bye, they departed. 

Charity said, “Now, Brother Holden, I must go and see if 
Arthur is ready to go home,” and hurried away so suddenly 
that he stood for a moment as if paralyzed. 

Finding that Arthur was not ready, Charity took a chair 


— 40 — 


near the porch, and was soon very much interested in the 
conversation of Mrs. Denton and Mrs. Mills on missions. A 
returned missionary from China was to give a lecture in the 
church soon. Just then, the pastor came and seated himself 
near, saying that he had known the missionary when he was 
in college, and assured them that a great treat was in store 
for them. 

Charity noticed that Deacon Mills took no part in the con- 
versation, and looked as though he were angry about some- 
thing. His wife said, “Will is mad, he wants to play ‘drop 
the handkerchief,’ but I am not going to let him go out there 
with all those girls.” 

Charity could not help noticing the look she gave him, but 
could not believe that she was in earnest, and said, “Now 
Sister Mills, you do not really mean it?” 

‘‘Yes, I do,” Mrs. Mills replied so crossly that Charity, 
hoping to pour oil on the troubled waters, jokingly said to 
him, ‘‘Never mind, I will try to get her interested in some 
subject and you just slip off, and she will not notice that you 
are gone. Now, what is it that she will be the most interest- 
ed in?” 

Mr. Mills said savagely, ‘‘You just get her started on for- 
eign missions, and she won’t know anything else.” 

Whereupon Brother Holden looked very uncomfortable, 
as he was in the midst of an interesting talk on that subject. 

Just as Deacon Mills finished speaking, Mrs. Macum came 
out on the porch, as if she wanted to join them. 

Charity arose and offered her chair, saying, “Please take 
this chair.” “No,” said Mrs. Macum, “I do not care to sit 
down,” turned and went into the dining room, where Sister 
Trigsby was still serving cream. 

The pastor resumed his talk on missions. Sister Trigsby 
came running out to the edge of the porch, where she stood 
looking down on the group, with eyebrows uplifted, and 
eyes literally ablaze with anger, as if the sight she beheld 
would surely cause her to explode. Looking straight at the 
pastor, she said : “Well!” 

Charity, spellbound at first by her fierce looks, soon saw 
— as was her way — the funny side of it, and, forgetting for 
the moment, the pastor’s presence, said, “Oh, we are all here. 
Do thyself no harm.” 


-- 4 1 — 


Sister Trigsby turned, ran down the hall to the dining 
room. Charity heard Deacon Mills laugh, and beheld his 
wife smiling, and then, remembering who was present, she 
took one look at what appeared to her the most solemn face 
she had ever seen in all her life. Thinking of his last ser- 
mon on “How we should love our neighbors,” she would 
have hidden under the porch if there had been room, and 
said to herself, “Oh, what he must think of my light ans- 
wer.” 

Just then her brother came, saying, “Let’s go home.” 

Charity said, “Good-night, Brother Holden,” and hurried 
down the walk, leaving Arthur to say good-night to the 
rest. 

When he overtook her, he said, “What made you act that 
way? Didn’t you have a nice time? I enjoyed the evening 
very much.” 


CHAPTER IX. 
GOOD SAMARITANS. 


Charity prayed that night that she might know what 
course to pursue. Should she stay away from church, and 
avoid the trouble she felt she would meet? This thought 
came to her — that if she stayed at home she would be a cow- 
ardly Christian, and fail in the sight of God. 

For the rest of the week she carried a sad, but prayerful 
heart, as she went about her daily duties. 

Sunday morning dawned such a calm, beautiful day that 
Charity could not refuse to go to church. So, in company 
with Arthur, was among those who arrived early. 

The sermon proved very helpful and put Charity’s mind 
at ease. When Brother Holden finished his sermon, he 
picked up a poem, and, holding it in his hand, looked over 
the audience. Sister Trigsby occupied her usual place in 
the front pew, not far from where Charity was sitting. Char- 
ity felt that in some way, the pastor would refer to Sister 
Trigsby’s conduct in his home at the ice cream social. 

The pastor often read poetry, and read it well. His room- 
mate at college had been an actor who had given up the stage 
to take up the Master’s work. 

Intense stillness prevailed as Brother Holden began to 
read Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poem, “Two Women.” 

As he read of the good woman, he seemed to be reading it 
to Charity alone, to her great surprise. 

As he read of the jealous woman, he turned his attention 
to Sister Trigsby, and his voice and manner of reading left 
not a doubt in the minds of his hearers that he intended it 
for her alone. She sat at first, as if she did not understand, 
then turned half way round, finally turning her back to him, 
as he finished reading. 

The congregation was astonished, for they did not all 
know of her treatment of Charity, and, when the services 
closed, there was much whispering, and meaning looks were 
exchanged by those who knew of the former troubles in the 
church. 


— 43 — 


Charity, on her way home, was accused of telling Brother 
Holden of her troubles with Sister Trigsby. In his first 
sermon, he had said from the pulpit that no one could tell 
him his troubles with other members — that he would not 
hear from anyone. 

The people were puzzled. It was plain from his actions 
that he knew something of the trouble, but what, and how 
did he know of it? 

The next day, one of Sister Trigsby’s friends met Charity 
on the street, and openly accused her of telling her troubles 
to Brother Holden. She denied it most earnestly, and, with 
tears in her eyes, went home, resolving to stay there in the 
future. But what should she say to Arthur in explanation 
of her conduct? She could not always complain of being 
tired or ill. 

Several days passed, and Charity remained closely at 
home. Saturday evening one of her dear friends came to tell 
her that Sister Holden had returned home seriously ill, and 
none of the church members had called on her, and people 
were talking about it. A Catholic neighbor was doing all 
she could to help, as it was hard to find anyone to work for 
them. Girls earning their own living preferred the office 
and factory to doing housework. 

“It’s a shame,’’ said Mrs. Hulings. “I came to see if you 
would go with me to see her.” Charity instantly forgot her 
own troubles on hearing of the sad condition existing in the 
pastor’s home, and promised to go at once. Thinking the 
children might like it, she took with her a freshly baked 
loaf of bread. 

On the way, they passed the home of Sister Trigsby, and 
Mrs. Hulings wondered why she had not been to see them. 

On arriving, they found everything in confusion, and Sis- 
ter Holden very ill. The children — two dear little girls, 
Helen and Rosemary, age nine and seven — were trying to do 
the work the best they could. 

As Charity passed through the dining room, she saw some 
stale bread, and a few tomatoes and cucumbers, and was 
glad that she had thought to bring the bread, feeling sure 
they would be pleased to find it on the table when they came 
to prepare supper. 


—44 — 


Sister Holden was glad to see them. She felt badly be- 
cause none of the church people had been in to see them, and 
praised her Catholic neighbor, saying she could not have 
gotten along if she had not been so kind. 

Charity and her friend were shocked at the great change 
in Sister Holden. She told them that an operation might be 
necessary, as the doctor feared she had appendicitis, but at 
the present she did not have the strength for the ordeal. 

Just then, a knock at the door attracted Brother Holden’s 
attention. On opening the door, he beheld Sister Trigsby, 
all smiles. She greeted all with much friendliness, expressed 
her sympathy for Mrs. Holden, and said, “Now, Mrs. Hul- 
ings, how is your brother’s wife?” “You mean my sister?” 
replied Mrs. Hulings. “Oh, yes, excuse me.” 

Mrs. Hulings’ sister had been ill for many months, living 
within a block from Sister Trigsby’s home, yet she had 
never called on her, but desired Brother Holden to think 
that she was interested in all sick people. 

Sister Trigsby talked of the class picnic at the park, 
talked of missions, and expressed great concern for the fu- 
ture of the Sunday school. 

Charity and Mrs. Hulings, thinking she had come to help, 
arose to go home, saying they would call again soon. 

On their way home Charity said, “It is too bad our church 
people are so estranged and thoughtless of their Christian 
duty. You heard Sister Holden say they had not had a 
warm meal for a week, and she wanted to get up the next 
day, as Sunday was Mr. Holden’s hard day.” 

“Poor woman,” said Mrs. Hulings, “she can’t; she would 
faint. I wish I could leave the children. I would go and 
get dinner for them, for someone ought to. Can’t you go?” 

Charity, thinking of the many times her kindness had 
made her trouble, said, “I would be glad to go if only you 
could go with me. It is a strange place, and I would be so 
lonesome by myself.” 

They had reached her home, so she bade her friend good- 
bye, and went into the house. As she hurried her evening 
meal, she was thinking of the plight of the pastor’s family. 

The next day promised to be very beautiful, and Charity 
thought of the large crowd that would assemble at the 
church, and of Rev. Holden preaching a good sermon, and 


— 45 — 


greeting them with a smile, although he had not eaten a full, 
nourishing meal for a whole week. 

She resolved to stay away from church, and if no one came 
to help them, she would get Mrs. Alton, whose husband was 
away on his vacation, and they would spend the morning 
cleaning up the house and cooking dinner, feeling that it 
was their Christian duty to do so. 

At nine o’clock she ’phoned, asking how Sister Holden 
was, and was told that she was not so well as the day before. 
She asked if anvone had come to help them, and was told 
that no one had been there. Charity said, “I will bring Sis- 
ter Alton, and we will stay with Mrs. Holden and get din- 
ner.” Brother Holden said they would be so pleased, and 
would appreciate such kindness on their part very much. 

Mrs. Alton was much distressed to hear of their trouble, 
and was only too glad to help them. 

They found Mr. Holden trying to dress the girls, and 
comb their hair, so they would not be late for Sunday-school. 
Charity and Mrs. Alton relieved him of that task, and told 
him not to worry, as they would cook plenty for dinner, and 
would take the best of care of Mrs. Holden. 

Tears came into the pastor’s eyes as he thanked them, and 
started for the church. Those who were present said they 
never heard a better sermon than the one delivered that 
morning on home missions. 

Mrs. Alton took charge of Mrs. Holden, while Charity 
swept the parlor and dining room, and the two ladies cook- 
ed enough for several meals. 

Mrs. Holden was so cheered that she felt much better by 
the time Rev. Holden and the children returned from 
church, and they were made very happy by such a fine din- 
ner. Charity had made some of her fine hot biscuits, which 
pleased them beyond expression; and thev were very happy 
as they sat at the table and listened to Rev. Holden as he 
thanked the Heavenly Father for sending such kind friends 
to them, and prayed His richest blessing on them and their 
loved ones. 


CHAPTER X. 

LENDING TO THE LORD. 


The coming winter promised to be a severe one, which 
meant much suffering among the poor of Ashton. 

The Ashton church had, for years, celebrated the Christ- 
mas time by having a Christmas tree and program under 
the leadership of Sister Trigsby, who deeply resented the 
plan of Rev. Holden for a giving Christmas. However, the 
children were delighted, and the parents approved the plan. 

Preparations proceeded, under the direction of Rev. Hol- 
den, and, for the first time in many years, Sister Trigsby 
was not invited to preside as Mistress of Ceremonies. 

Christmas Eve found the church well filled; the pastor 
had the rostrum as a place of exhibit for the gifts. 

First, came the voung men of the church, each carrying a 
sack of flour on his shoulder, which they deposited on the 
rostrum. 

They were followed by a class of boys, each with a basket 
of potatoes in one hand, and a live chicken in the other. 

Next followed the young ladies and girls who brought 
some of almost every article found in a modern grocery 
store. The older women gave fruits and meats. 

The outsiders, desiring to join in the good work, asked 
that an offering be taken, and the jingle of silver told of 
hearts filled with love for Christ and their fellowman. 

Rev. Holden thanked the givers, and the happy faces of 
the children shone with joy as they talked and thought of 
the children who would have a brighter Christmas through 
their efforts. 

Committees were appointed to distribute the gifts, and 
many homes were made happy because of their gifts. 

At the annual meeting, Rev. Holden announced that he 
did not like to preach in a church with a debt on it, and 
asked that the money on hand be used to pav the sum loaned 
to them by Mrs. Macum, for which she received good inter- 
est. 

The congregation voted to have it paid, and the New 

— 47 — 


Year began with no hint of any unpleasantries in the church 
The pastor had just moved into his new home, which was 
just completed. 

But who can fathom the heart of man (or woman)? Sister 
Trigsby, feeling that she was losing her hold on the people, 
began to think how she might resume her old time authority. 
Since the world began, woman has beguiled man. So it was 
to Elder Roscoe she carried her troubles. He had seen, as 
chairman of the Board, that special favors were shown her 
in the way of having her represent the church in its various 
departments at conventions, with all expenses paid. By 
having only one delegate, it was a saving of money, and 
heaping honor on the representative. Elder Roscoe also al- 
lowed Sister Trigsby to dictate who should teach in the 
Sunday School, and finally she attended the meeting of the 
official Board, to which even the Pastor was not invited. 


— 48 — 


.CHAPTER XI. 
THE AWAKENING. 


The congregation never knew just when and how the 
Board decided to ask for the resignation of the pastor, but 
they believed it to be the outcome of Sister Trigsby’s in- 
fluence over Elder Roscoe, and her attendance at the Board 
meetings. 

A private meeting was held at the shoe store of one of her 
ir.timate friends, a member of the Board. It was there agreed 
to appoint Sister Trigsby a helper to the pastor, and if he 
refused to accept her assistance that he should be asked to 
resign at once. 

Among other things, they decided that he did not dress 
well enough, for Sister Mills had been greatly humiliated 
by meeting him on the street, when in company with some of 
her friends, and being compelled to introduce such a poorly 
dressed man as her pastor. One merdber said that he lately 
came to church with a straw sticking to the heel of his shoe; 
he parted his hair in the middle, and drove such a shabby 
little horse; and really was not just what the church wanted, 
anyway, although he worked almost day and night in minis- 
tering to their needs. They did not think he earned his 
salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. 

Deacon Mills thought that the pastor should be properly 
humiliated, and should be asked to resign at the close of his 
sermon the following Sunday. 

Elder Cotton had not attended the private meeting, and, 
on hearing of their plans, was deeply grieved. He said, 
“Never, while I live, shall such a thing be done. I shall in- 
form him of what you intend to do.” 

This was the one thing they had dreaded most, being such 
cowards that each wanted the other to do it — but now the 
last obstacle was removed. 

The past year had been a very busy one for the pastor. 
Since taking charge of the church, more than four hun- 
dred new members had been added. He found ministering 
to the needs of nine hundred people a great task. Many 
lived in the country, which made it necessary to take long 

— 49 — 


\ 


drives, for he never refused a call, though many times he 
was almost ill from weariness. 

On the day that Elder Cotton was told of their intentions 
to ask Rev. Holden to resign, the pastor and his wife were 
gone to the country, to attend the funeral of an old member. 
Mrs. Holden, though frail in body, always accompanied her 
husband. She had a beautiful voice, which she dedicated to 
the Master’s work, and on that day she was to sing a solo. 
While Rev. Preston ministered, such duties were performed 
by Sister Trigsby, who now felt that her rights were tramp- 
led under foot, for several times Charity had been asked to 
sing at funerals. 

On arriving home from the funeral, Mrs. Holden set a 
cold supper, for it was late, and the pastor must attend a 
business meeting. 

As Silas Holden neared the church which he served so 
well, and loved so much, his heart grew lighter, and his body 
less weary, for he was sure his work was appreciated by the 
people. He greeted Elder Cotton, who was the only one 
present, with a cheery smile, and the Elder clasped his hand 
with more than the usual warmth. His voice trembled, and 
his eyes filled with tears, as he thought of the blow he must 
now strike. 

It was not until Rev. Holden commented on the non-ar- 
rival of the others that the Elder told him of the intended 
offer of Sister Trigsby’s help, and the consequences should 
he refuse to accept the same. 

Silas Holden sat as if turned to stone for several minutes. 
His mind was unable to grasp the meaning of Elder Cotton’s 
words. The Board not his friends! His people that he had 
loved and served so faithfully, dissatisfied? Asked to have 
a woman manage the affairs of the church! 

As the full force of the proposition dawned he exclaimed, 
“Never! I can, and will resign. No woman can run my busi- 
ness. I will do that myself.” 

His head sank low, and he groaned as if in mortal agony. 
No doubt thoughts of his wife entered his mind, and he said, 
“Oh, how can I ever tell her? It will surely kill her.” 

After a time, he gffew calmer, and thanked Elder Cotton 
for his kindness in telling him, as well as assuring him that 


- 50 — 


he would remain his friend through any trouble which 
might befall him in the future. 

As the hour was late when he reached home, Mrs. Holden 
and the girls had retired, and were sleeping soundly. He 
thought best not to disturb them, so he went to his study, 
where he laid his head on the table, and wept bitterly 
through the long hours of the night. 

On awakening the next morning, Mrs. Holden was sur- 
prised at the lateness of the hour, and the strange quiet 
through the house, for it was one of Rev. Holden’s habits 
to arise early, and light the kitchen fire. She arose to dress, 
feeling a sense of impending trouble. 

Finding no fire lighted, Mrs. Holden went to the study, 
and was greatly alarmed when she found the door locked. 
Sounds of weeping came to her from inside the study, and 
her frantic calling of her husband’s name brought the girls, 
whose frightened faces added to her excitement. She beg- 
ged piteously for him to unlock the door. On seeing him, 
she grasped a chair for support, so haggard was he after his 
long vigil. 

The girls began to cry, which sight nerved him to tell the 
cause of his weeping. Fearing for her husband, she scarce- 
ly knew what, Mrs. Holden said, to his relief, “Never mind, 
it is all right, I don’t care at all,” and, fearing lest he do him- 
self harm, she led him to the couch, where she sat holding 
his hand, while he wept in agony at the thought of the in- 
gratitude of those whose friendships he had prized so high- 

iy- 

“Where shall we go?” asked little Rosemary. 

Mrs. Holden feared to leave him, and thus it was that Mrs. 
Cotton found them at noon, not fully dressed, and having no 
thought of breakfast. 

The neighing of Santa, the family driving horse — whose 
color was not to the liking of some of the women of the 
church — caused Rev. Holden to forget his sorrow for a time. 
He went to give the horse his long delayed attention. As he 
neared the barn, Brownie, the faithful watchdog, came to 
meet him and showed his almost human sympathy by rub- 
bing his nose on his feet, to show that he understood that 
his master was troubled. 

On entering the stall, Rev. Holden put his arms around 


— 51 — 


Santa’s neck, and said, “Poor fellow, you are not so fine in 
appearance, but how faithfully you have served me.” 

Mrs. Huling, hearing that the pastor was going to leave, 
told Charity, who thought it only an idle rumor. Mrs. Hul- 
ing said, “It must be true, for Helen told my Florence at 
school that her papa had been asked to resign, and she did 
not know where they would go, as they had expected to stay 
in Ashton, for they had never lived in a town they liked so 
well.” 

When Arthur came home that evening, he was very in- 
dignant at the way they treated the pastor in return for his 
faithful work. 

Mrs. Alton called on Charity, and told of her visit to the 
pastor’s home, and of their sorrow at having to leave their 
friends and their new home. Mrs. Holden had told Mrs. 
Alton “she feared Silas would quit the ministry.” 

This fact caused Charity to call on the pastor’s family. It 
was a cold, dreary day in January — the time when all are in 
a somber mood. When Charity rang the door bell, Mrs. Hol- 
den answered it, trying to restrain the tears which had been 
coursing down her cheeks. On seeing Charity, she made no 
further effort to control her grief. Taking her hand, she 
said, “How glad I am that it is you. Come in, and talk to 
Mr. Holden; he is feeling worse than ever today, and I feel 
so badly I can’t say anytthing to comfort him. I can only 
cry.” 

Charity entered the study, where the pastor lay on a 
couch, too discouraged to arise at her entrance. A sadness 
overspread his countenance, which told of the sorrow 
through which he had lately passed. Charity feared for his 
future, when she saw how changed he was. In appearance, 
he was as an old man, nearing the end of his work, instead 
of a man in the zenith of his power. 

Charity’s heart filled with indignation against his per- 
secutors, but she greeted him as pleasantly as though noth- 
ing unpleasant had occurred. 

When he expressed his determination to leave the minis- 
try, she said, “Why, how very foolish that would be, Broth- 
er Holden! You are not fitted for any other work; you 
must not think of such a thing.” Then she began to talk of 
the work he had done since coming to Ashton; of the great 


— 52 — 


meeting, and its results. She reminded him of the new 
church they were planning to build, and the good work 
among the poor; of the many nice things she had heard of 
his work; of the high regard the people of the community 
held for him for his fearless stand for Temperance. 

He was much encouraged, so much so that he arose and 
ate a hearty dinner. 

Mrs. Holden was surprised on hearing him say that he 
must spend the afternoon in visiting the sick of his congre- 
gation. He even smiled his old cheery smile, and his wife told 
Charity after his departure that she feared he would never 
smile again. She thanked Charity for her timely visit, say- 
ing she would never forget her kindness to them, and that 
she would always remember it, no matter where they might 
go. 

Many people in the church were justly indignant, at the 
way the pastor had been treated, and by their stand, gained 
the ill-will of Sister Trigsby and her friends. Charity and 
Arthur were among those who openly shovred kindness to 
the pastor’s family. 

Mr. Holden was offered a pastorate of a fine church in 
the south, which after prayerful consideration, he decided to 
accept, for he felt that Sister Trigsby’s friends would oppose 
him in building the much needed new church. 

Great was the disappointment of the many people who 
had hoped that he would remain, and sad indeed were the 
last few weeks of his ministry among them. 

Dear old Sister Barton, who had loved him almost as if 
he were her own son, sat with Helen on one side and Rose- 
mary on the other, for Mrs. Holden had said that they must 
remain at home, as some of the ladies who had no children 
of their own, had said that they misbehaved in the church. 
While Rev. Holden preached, tears flowed down Sister Bar- 
ton’s cheeks, and the faces of Helen and Rosemary ex- 
pressed the sorrow they felt on having to leave their little 
friends. 

Silas Holden wept as he beheld them in the pews. In that 
he was as Christlike as in his kindness to the poor. “Did not 
Christ weep?” said his friends. 

Those who heard him resign publicly, gained therefrom a 


— 53 — 


good idea of the crucifixion, for so worn was Rev. Holden 
that he leaned on the table while delivering his last sermon, 
which ended in these words, spoken by Paul of old : “I have 
fought a good fight; I have kept the faith,” it being the title 
of the last of a series of sermons for the winter. 

Many wept, and tried in vain to urge him to reconsider 
his resignation. It was with sorrowful hearts that they saw 
him depart for the Southland. Many who had recently 
united with the church were so disappointed that they re- 
turned to the ways of the world. Others united with other 
denominations. A general feeling of sadness overshadowed 
the church except among Sister Trigsby’s friends, whose 
triumphant smiles expressed the joy they felt. Her power 
over them seemed greater than ever, and some asked the 
question seriously: “Is she a hypnotist?” 

Elder Roscoe led the meetings while the church was 
without a pastor, while in the choir and various depart- 
ments, Sister Trigsby resumed her old time authority. Many 
weak ones now feared to express disapproval of anything 
she did. Others took a stand openly for the right, saying 
that a very few should not run the church and mistreat the 
pastor. 

What was the secret of the power Sister Trigsby exer- 
cised over certain members of the Board, as well as some in 
the congregation? They were there seemingly to serve her, 
and not to serve Christ. Those who did not approve of her 
rule were made to feel the effect of her power and dislike. 

With her little band of followers, Sister Trigsby began 
the task of finding a new minister. Those who knew of the 
existing condition, refused to preach a trial sermon, while 
others flatly refused the place. 

The church’s future looked dark, when, after several 
months of fruitless search, a committee was appointed to 
advertise for a minister, in the hope of finding one who 
knew nothing of the past history of the church. They suc- 
ceeded in finding one — Rev. Gideon Batty, who promised to 
visit them and preach a trial sermon, they to pay all expen- 
ses of the trip. 


— 54 — 


CHAPTER XII. 
THE NEW MINISTER. 


Elder Roscoe decided to make no mistake by employing a 
man on sight. He thought the Board made a mistake in 
hiring Silas Holden, so he began an investigation of the 
work and character of the Rev. Gideon Batty. He informed 
the little band that the results were very satisfactory, and 
they were much pleased at the thought of having secured a 
man who knew absolutely nothing of former troubles in the 
church. 

They decided to appoint Sister Trigsby as his assistant 
pastor, and, fearing Charity’s influence, their next step was 
to have Arthur discharged from the position which he held, 
in the belief that they would leave town, before the advent 
of the preacher from the East, to whose coming they looked 
forward with delight. 

At last he came to preach what they were pleased to call 
his trial sermon. Elder Roscoe, Sister Trigsby and their 
little band greeted him with such an air of sanctification, 
and were so attentive that no one not familiar with the 
church’s past history would never believe that but a short 
time had elapsed since they had driven out a most faithful 
and devout minister. 

Rev. Gideon Batty seemed very reticent as to his plan of 
future work. He was suffering from a severe cold; this, and 
what they termed his great modesty, prevented him 
from telling anything of himself. He informed them that he 
could not leave his present charge for a month, being under 
contract for that length of time. They readily signed the 
contract which he required of them, in which they agreed to 
keep him until the new church was completed. 

Rev. Batty was well pleased with his entertainment, and 
the enthusiasm of the people in regard to building a new 
church. All preachers like to have a new church built dur- 
ing their stay, as it is a fine memorial of their work. 

After he had returned to his home in the East, they re- 
doubled their efforts to get rid of Charity and Arthur. Mrs. 
Lester told Charity of their plans, and begged her to leave, 

— 55 — 


and thus avoid trouble. This, she refused to do, saying that 
if anyone went it must be some of those who were planning 
to have her go. 

A few weeks later Arthur was informed that his place in 
the office would be filled by a young lady. He was much dis- 
turbed, for he had been highly praised by his employer in 
the past. Charity recalled what Mrs. Lester had told her, 
and called on Mr. Bland to learn the reason for her brother’s 
discharge. She was told that Arthur was near-sighted, and 
refused to wear glasses, as he had been requested to do. This 
was a great surprise to Charity, but Arthur thought it was 
because of his friendship to Silas Holden. 

Charity tried to cheer Arthur, telling him he would find 
another position, and all would be well with them yet, for 
‘‘all things work together for good to them that love the 
Lord.” 

When Celia Denton was to be married in the church, all of 
the young people were invited, excepting Arthur. Several 
of Sister Trigsby’s friends met him on the street, and asked 
him if he had been invited to the wedding. He replied that 
he had not, whereupon they looked at one another, and 
smiled knowingly. 

All this greatly angered Arthur, and he began to remain 
away from the church services. This caused Charity to 
think seriously of what Mrs. Lester had told her. 

About this time, Arthur received an offer to go West as a 
traveling secretary, and accepted, leaving Charity all alone. 
She could not refuse her consent to his going, as the offer 
held good opportunity for advancement. With a prayer in 
her heart for his safety, she bade him good-bye, and, return- 
ing to her home, she wept as she had not done since the 
death of her father. She looked at Arthur’s favorite books, 
and empty chair, and felt too lonely to think of eating any 
supper. How would she ever pass the time? she asked her- 
self. How could she live without Arthur? 

Charity tried to read the evening paper, as usual, but her 
eyes filled afresh with tears, when the first item her eyes 
met was a personal, telling of his departure. Then she 
thought of what he would be doing; wondered if he had had 
his supper, and prayed that the people would be kind to him 
— her little baby brother 


— 56 — 






CHAPTER XIII. 
A DREAM. 


It was long past midnight before Charity thought of re- 
tiring, to secure the rest which she so much needed, to help 
her bear the lonely days to come. When she lay down to 
rest, tears rolled down her cheeks and dampened her pillow. 

At last she fell asleep, and dreamed that she was all alone 
in such a beautiful country, but she was afraid, for in the 
distance, a storm cloud was appearing. While she hesitated, 
her father appeared, extending his arm's to her, looking, not 
old as when he died, but young. Though he did not speak, 
she knew that she would not have to be alone. At the 
thought, her heart filled with unspeakable joy, and her 
troubles were instantly vanished. Next, it seemed that she 
was in the church, and saw a dark woman, who seemed to be 
ruler over all the men assembled there, and all were un- 
friendly to her. The scene changed — the church was filled 
with men, all strangers to her, and, feeling very much 
out of place, being the only woman present, she hurried out. 

Then, Charity awoke, to find the sun shining brightly, 
and Mrs. Huling coming up the walk, to whom she told her 
strange dream, weeping at the recollection of seeing her 
father so plainly. 

Mrs. Huling was much distressed, and tried to comfort 
her. After a time, Charity calmed herself, and said, “The 
Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,” and went about her 
daily duties. 

A letter came from Arthur, telling of his position, and the 
kindness of everyone he had met. 

Charity’s calm manner thoroughly surprised those who 
had thought she could not live without Arthur, and the 
hearts of those who had planned to completely crush her 
were filled with bitterness toward her. 


— 58 — 


CHAPTER XIV. 
EARTHLY TREASURE. 


Before the arrival of Rev. Gideon Batty, Sister Trigsby 
and her friends decided to give Charity no quarter. They 
would tell the new minister to beware of her. She was not 
only vain and worldly minded, but was not strong mentally. 

A few days after his arrival, a reception was held in the 
church to welcome him; and never were such pains taken to 
appear at their very best. At the appointed hour, Rev. Batty, 
accompanied by his wife, arrived at the church. 

Those present were much surprised at this pompous look- 
ing man. In some way, he appeared so different from the 
man they had hired three months ago. His wife, a quiet, 
meek-looking little woman, when asked if she liked the 
town, replied, “Yes, Mr. Batty is very much pleased, and 
thinks it a fine place.” 

Mrs. Mills inquired if she would take an active interest in 
the “Aid Society.” “Yes,” she said, “I suppose so, but it is 
just as Mr. Batty says.” 

Mrs. Batty was a great disappointment to the wives of the 
elders and deacons, because she depended so much on what 
her husband said in everything she conversed about. Rev. 
Batty seemed very independent. 

After receiving the members in line with the Elders and 
Sister Trigsby, he said, “I thank you for your little recep- 
tion; it is all very nice, and reminds me of a story I once 
heard. A little boy was once playing in the front yard, 
when a pretty white kitten appeared. He called ‘Kitty, 
Kitty,’ but it paid no attention to him. He went into the 
house, and returned with a saucer of cream, and again called 
‘Kitty, Kitty.’ This time, he was rewarded, for it came near, 
and began to lap the cream hungrily, and he gently stroked 
its silky fur with his hand. For several days, he provided 
cream, and the kitten was very happy. When the kitten had 
lost all fear of him, he grew tired of it, and one morning, 
instead of the cream, which it had grown to expect, he 
struck it a smart blow with his fist, and said, ‘Scat, you hate- 
ful thing.’ ” 

“The kitten in the story,” said Rev. Batty, “represents a 
new preacher.” 

As he spoke, he nodded his head at his wife, as a signal 


— 59 — 


that he was ready to go home, and departed, leaving them 
dumb with astonishment. They looked helplessly at each 
other. 

At the beginning of his work with them, Sister Trigsby 
was duly appointed as a deaconness, or assistant pastor, with 
a good salary, but it was thought best by those who made, the 
appointment to keep this fact from the members. 

On being told of her appointment, Rev. Batty said, “It is 
all right to have her call on the sick, and look after the poor, 
but she can’t tell me what to do in my work,” and with an 
upward toss of his head, continued: “The woman doesn’t 
live that can boss me.” 

When Charity came to church, they ignored her, even 
going so far as refusing to speak to her at the midweek pray- 
er meeting. Yet, they offered long prayers for the heathen 
in darkest India. 

Elder Roscoe would turn his head aside when he met her 
in the aisle after services. 

Mrs. Batty, though very quiet, was quick to see every- 
thing that went on in the church. She noticed that Charity 
always came alone, and that the members did not speak to 
her. She said nothing, but resolved to make her acquaint- 
ance, and treat her with kindness. 

The people of Ashton began to remark on the interest Sis- 
ter Trigsby manifested in visiting the sick, and urging new 
members to pledge for the current expenses of the church. 

Rev. Batty decided to hold a special service for old people, 
using candles instead of electricity for lighting the church, 
and to sing old hymns, dispensing with the services of the 
choir for that evening. 

As the hour of service drew near, the church was filled 
with people, many coming miles in order to be present and 
hear an old time sermon. 

Rev. Batty’s face expressed the joy he felt on seeing so 
many old people with their happy, expectant faces, that in a 
way made up for the dim light of the tallow candles. 

A few minutes before time for the service to begin, the 
President of the Missionary Society announced to Rev. 
Batty that they had a short program of several minutes pre- 
ceding his sermon. He courteously gave his consent. 

The President and other members of the Society made 
five minute talks, during which the audience became very 


— 60 — 


restless, for they were more interested in hearing the ser- 
mon. 

Mrs. Mills was last on the program. She held in her hand 
several closely written pages, and began to read a sketch of 
the life of some pioneer preacher. The congregation grew 
more restless, and dismay, mingled with disgust, overspread 
the countenance of Rev. Batty. Would she ever stop? was 
the question in every mind. Apparently fascinated by fac- 
ing such a crowd, she read on and on. It was nine o’clock 
when she finished. Rev. Batty thanked the people for 
coming to hear him, saying the sermon by*the good sister 
was so long that there was no time left for him to say any- 
thing, as he knew they would not care to stay all night. He 
then pronounced the benediction. 

The following Sunday, the appointment of Sister Trigsby 
as assistant pastor was made public by the chairman of the 
official Board. In some way, the facts had leaked out and 
appeared in the Daily News. 

There was great indignation among those who had thought 
her devotion was prompted by her devotion to the Lord’s 
work. Many of the members expressed their opinion in no 
mild terms, and the next week, on her regular calls, she 
'found many doors closed in her face. 

After several days of such treatment by members at their 
homes, she called on the pastor, and said she would give up 
the position. Her decision pleased him very much. 

She and her mother bought a notion store, and moved to 
rooms over it in the business part of the city. When 
times became dull and business poor with them, her mother 
expressed a desire to go to her old home in the state of Ver- 
mont to spend her last days near the place of her birth. 
However, being unable to sell the store at a profit, it looked 
as though she would have to remain in Ashton. 

One cold night, the fire bell rang, and, when people 
rushed out to ascertain the cause of the alarm*, they beheld 
the store of Trigsby & Macum in flames. The building and 
contents were consumed, in spite of the heroic efforts on the 
part of the brave firemen. 

Their loss was fully covered by insurance, and in a short 
time they departed to Mrs. Macum’s old home in Vermont. 

The origin of the fire remained a mystery, and their names 


— 61 — 


are never mentioned by those who were once their most in- 
timate friends. 

After Sister Trigsby gave up the position of assistant pas- 
tor, Elder Roscoe began finding fault with Rev. Batty’s ser- 
mons, and said openly that he was not going to succeed in 
the work, and endeavored to discourage him by calling at 
his home, and telling him that his work was not being appre- 
ciated by the people — that it pained him deeply to tell him, 
but that in some way, he did not please the members — in 
fact, many of them did not like him, and it might be best for 
him to give up his work on that account. 

Rev. Batty listened quietly until Elder Roscoe had finish- 
ed. Then he said in a calm, even voice, “Well, Brother Ros- 
coe, I am glad that you have come to me in the way you 
have, for it gives me the opportunity of telling you that a 
great many people do not like you, either, because of the 
manner in which you insist in having your own way in 
everything pertaining to affairs in the church. So, you see 
that I am in a position to sympathize with you perfectly.” 

Elder Roscoe’s face assumed a sickly hue, as the pastor 
gave this unexpected information. Without another word, 
he departed. He was not present at the Sunday morning 
service, and the Daily News gave the information that he 
was unable to be at his office, as he was suffering from acute 
heart disease. 

A few days later, he sold his business interests in the city, 
and invested in stock in a silver mine in Old Mexico, to 
which place he went to make his home in the future. 

There was sorrow among his friends after his departure. 
Many thought the church was doomed without Sister Trigs- 
by and Elder Roscoe to plan the work formerly done by them 
and their friends, which was now left undone. 

The pastor’s wife pleaded with him to give up the work, 
and go back East, where a fine position as pastor of one of 
the leading churches had been offered him. The temptation 
to do so was great, but he had never given up any work in 
the Lord’s vineyard, because he found it difficult, and he 
would not do so now. 

He went to his study, locked the door, and spent many 
hours in meditation and prayer to God for guidance and 
strength to go forward with the work in Ashton. 


— 62 — 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE TRUMPET CALL. 

Preceding the sermon, the following Lord’s Day, Rev. 
Batty announced that a meeting for all the men in the con- 
gregation would be held in the auditorium of the church on 
Thursday evening of that week. 

This was something new in Ashton, and great interest was 
manifested to learn the object of such a meeting. To all 
questions, Rev. Batty replied: “Come and see.” 

The auditorium was well filled for the occasion. After a 
voluntary on the organ by a young man, a quartet sang “The 
Man of Gallilee.” 

Perfect order prevailed during the sermon, his subject 
being the “Manly Man in the Church,” in which he made it 
very plain that men should appreciate the fact that a great 
responsibility rested on them in bringing men to Christ in 
Ashton. 

There was an ease of manner among the men that was 
noticeably absent when their wives were present. At the 
close of the sermon, the minister suggested that a permanent 
organization be made of all present into a club for work in 
the church, by men and for men. 

All were in favor, and agreed on the name, “The Friendly 
Men’s Brotherhood.” In order that all men in the city be 
reached, a banquet was arranged, to which a musical pro- 
gram was added. Prominent business and professional men 
were to be invited to address them. A chef was to prepare 
the banquet, and young men would wait on the guests — all 
this to be free. 

All present joined in singing “Praise God from Whom 
All Blessings Flow,” and when Rev. Batty pronounced the 
benediction, there was renewed energy in the sound of his 
voice. 

The greetings of the men showed that the seed had fallen 
on good ground, and a new interest in the work had been 
created. Many of them, on returning home, found their 
wives waiting their return, although the hour was late, for 
curiosity had kept them awake. 


— 63 — 


On learning of the object of the meeting, the officers of 
the Ladies’ Aid Society were very indignant. Since the de- 
parture of Elder Roscoe, the Aid had held no meetings, and 
they had secretly agreed to give no aid in any project, so 
long as Gideon Batty remained their pastor. The last offi- 
cial act of the Aid, before disbanding, was to discharge Elder 
Cotton, who for several years, had served as janitor, renting 
his home in the suburbs and moving into a cottage near the 
church, in order to care for it properly. He and his wife did 
most of the work at night, as he held a responsible position 
in a wholesale house. One evening, he came home and found 
his wife in tears. She gave him a letter which had come that 
afternoon; he took it with trembling hands, and read. 

Ashton, April 20th. 

Elder Cotton, 

Dear Sir: — 

This is to inform you that your work is unsatisfactory, and 
your services are no longer required. 

Mrs. Mills, Pres. Ladies’ Aid Society. 

Mrs. Overton, Secretary. 

P. S. The chairman of the Board sanctions this. 

The Elder and his wife were almost heartbroken, for they 
had made many sacrifices in order to care for the church. 

On entering the church the next Lord’s Day, Mrs. Cotton 
burst into tears, on seeing that a negro woman had been 
hired to succeed them. 

The day after the men’s meeting, Mrs. Mills — upon whom 
the mantel of authority had fallen after the departure of 
Sister Trigsby — decided to call a special meeting of the Aid 
Society. Telephones worked overtime at the homes of the 
members. News of the coming banquet speedily spread over 
the town, and was the subject of conversation in office, store 
and shop. 

At the meeting of the Ladies’ Aid, the report of its mem- 
bers was that their husbands were simply carried away with 
the idea of the new brotherhood organization, and loud in 
their praise of Gideon Batty’s lecture. For once, they were 
unable to stem the tide, so great was the enthusiasm of the 
men. They decided to adjourn until further notice. 


— 64 — 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE BROKEN TOWER. 

Mrs. Mills, as leading soprano, and Mrs. Overton, the or- 
ganist, used their influence with members of the choir, 
hoping to defeat Rev. Batty in that way. Of late, they had 
caused him great annoyance by looking in the direction of 
the clock, as the noon hour drew near, and opening their 
Hymn Books, as a hint that his sermon was too long. 

On the Sunday evening, following the men’s meeting, peo- 
ple coming in for the service were astonished to see the choir 
corner vacant. The sound of suppressed giggling drew their 
attention to the balcony, where the choir sat in front of an 
old ruelodeon, which had been unused for years, save as a 
hiding place for bats. 

Just then, Rev. Batty ascended the stairs leading from the 
Endeavor room, took his place in the pulpit, turned towards 
the choir, as a signal of his readiness to begin the service. 
His look of astonishment on seeing the vacant space left no 
doubt of the genuineness of his surprise, in the minds of the 
audience. They saw him grasp the stand for support, and, 
with a great effort, he restrained the tears that filled his 
eyes, as, following the gaze of the people, he beheld the 
smiling faces of his choir. 

Grasping the meaning of the move instantly, he recovered 
his composure, opened his Hymn book, and remarked that a 
great treat was in store for those present, as a men’s choir 
would furnish the music for the services, “and now,” he 
said, “will those who are to sing kindly take their places,” 
indicating the place with a wave of his hand. 

Chairs had to be brought from the Endeavor room to ac- 
commodate the men who volunteered to sing. As their voices 
rose Heavenward, in such old-time songs as “How Firm a 
Foundation,” and “Am I a Soldier of the Cross?” the people 
sat as if entranced. 

The minister chose for his text, “He that exalteth him- 
self shall be brought low.” Those sitting near the steps 


— 65 — 


leading to the balcony saw the members of the choir, with 
downcast faces, quietly slipping into seats in the back pew. 

*** ******** 

It was many days before the Ashton people stopped talk- 
ing of the pleasant features of the men’s banquet, and many 
who had heretofore manifested no interest in such things, 
joined the ‘‘Friendly Men’s Brotherhood.” One man donat- 
ed stone for the foundation, and the work of building the 
new church was begun. 

Others gave as God had prospered them, in money, and 
the absence of the old way of giving socials to raise money 
for church purposes was a relief to the community. 

The way of the members of the Friendly Men’s Brother- 
hood, in greeting men in cars and on the streets, with a pleas- 
ant word, without the formality of an introduction, pleased 
the men, and caused many to give generously to the building 
fund. 

In less than a year, the new church was nearing comple- 
tion, and the relations existing among the men of Ashton 
were very pleasant. 

Mrs. Batty, with other women of the congregation, adopt- 
ed the plan of serving a dinner at the church every Thurs- 
day, to furnish a carpet, and other furniture for the new 
church. Mrs. Batty was not only a fine cook, but a good 
worker, and, with Charity as chief assistant, the good meals 
brought great crowds, and money fairly poured into the 
treasury. 

The enthusiasm and earnestness of the men finally shamed 
the members of the Aid Society into a state of genuine re- 
pentance, and they brought fruits and meats for the dinners, 
offering their services also. 

Even Mrs. Mills and Mrs. Overton grew to respect the 
minister, and, under the influence of Mrs. Batty, became 
earnest and helpful Christians. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

STRANGERS WITHIN THE GATES. 


In some way, every man in the Friendly Men’s Brother- 
hood became a Missionary. 

One day a strange man on a sight seeing tour entered the 
leading grocery store of Ashton, which was owned by Orin 
Barry. This motto, just above the desk of the proprietor, at 
once attracted his attention: “As you measure to others, so 
shall it be measured unto you.” The Holy Bible lay on the 
desk. 

After Mr. Barry had left off unpacking the box of oranges, 
he politely greeted the man, who asked why the Bible was 
on his desk, saying that it was an unusual sight in a grocery 
store. Mr. Barry answered the man’s question thus: “We 
practice what we preach.” He then told the stranger of the 
work being done in Ashton, by men, for men. 

As he talked, Mr. Barry was busy attending to the wants 
of his customers; “Yes ma’am, that butter is just as fresh 
and sweet as it can be, if you do not find it so, let us know.” 
He paused long enough to give this assurance to a well 
dressed old lady. He then gave the man a cordial invitation 
to attend the mid-week prayer service, should he remain in 
the city over night. The man went leisurely on down the 
main street of Ashton. He noticed that the men, though 
busy at different occupations, greeted each other with a 
cheery “Good Morning.” 

Near the entrance of a neat appearing drug store, he 
paused, for a thirsty feeling overpowered him. Going in- 
side, he was astonished to see hanging just above the soda 
fountain, in gold letters on black, this neatly framed motto: 
“Woe unto him who giveth his brother strong drink.” The 
pleasant faced clerk greeted him with, “Good Morning, 
Brother, what will you have?” He hesitated. “Please give 
me a glass of iced buttermilk.” he replied. As he went out 
visions of the foaming glasses of beer served at his home 
town drug store arose before him, and a .smile overspread his 


— 67 — 


countenance as he thought of what the crowd there would 
say if they knew that he had called for iced buttermilk in a 
strange town. 

Having thus passed away the time while waiting for his 
train, he returned to the station in a thoughtful frame of 
mind; he was impressed with the beauty and cleanliness of 
the streets and the mottoes which were a part of the decor- 
ations to be seen in many of the different places of business. 
Most of all by the friendly greetings he encountered. 

Seating himself in a coach, he gazed at the receding city 
as the train speed on its way. His mind was busy contrast- 
ing it with the town where he lived; wouldn’t Nancy just like 
to live in a town like that, he mused. The bright faces of his 
three boys seemed to haunt him as he thought of the great 
opportunity of good that life in a clean city like Ashton 
would be to them, and a great resolve entered his mind. He 
would, if for no other reason than the hope he had for their 
future, sell all that he had and make his home in that place. 

Hurrying home, he told Nancy and the boys of the beau- 
tiful city that was to be their home in the future. The boys 
were delighted with the idea of moving to a larger place, and 
in a few months after Mr. Taylor’s visit, he purchased a fine 
home, and with his family came to live in Ashton. It was 
not long until he and his sons were among the most earnest 
workers in the Friendly Men’s Brotherhood. 

Reverend Gideon Batty conceived the idea of forming the 
young men of the Brotherhood into a separate club; the 
name “Endless Chain’’ was adopted by them, for being a 
part of the original organization, each one being a link to 
give strength to others, all anchored to Christ who is the 
source of all strength. 

Thus the Endless Chain Club began its work in Ashton of 
rescuing young men and bringing them to Christ and a bet- 
ter life. 

There were in Ashton a few places where liquor was sold, 
and against these places, members of the club promised to 
use their influence, and agreed to hold a meeting monthly 
for that purpose, to which all men of the city were to be in- 
vited. 

Some good evangelist or noted lecturer was secured for 
each meeting, and the services were held in a large tent, with 


— 68 — 


the hope of reaching men who did not attend regular church 
service. 

One evening, as the song of invitation was sung, a young 
man staggered to the front and tears flowed from his rum 
reddened eyes as he told of his desire to return to God, and 
to begin life over again in his service. Several of the young 
men of the club came and sat near him, whose clear eyes and 
poise of manner told of lives being spent in the betterment 
of their fellow fnen. They assured him of their joy in see- 
ing him take such a stand. 

He told them the story of his past life; he had been reared 
by Christian parents, married a good and beautiful girl, 
started out in life with a good position and all prospects of 
a successful life were his. 

Some of the men in the shop where he worked drank, al- 
ways inviting him to join them; this he at first steadfastly 
refused to do. At last urged by the son of the owner of the 
shop, who saw no harm in a social glass, he joined them, not 
wishing to be unpopular with or to lose the good will of the 
proprietor’s son, and with no thought of anything wrong or 
acquiring the drink habit. 

Soon he found himself bound as if by iron chains to an 
unquenchable thirst, and began to drop into saloons on his 
way home from his work. This was followed by excuses for 
going down town in the evenings, telling his wife that im- 
portant business at the shop demanded his personal atten- 
tion. 

Finallv he could not disguise the fact from his wife that 
he was the victim of strong drink, and great was her sorrow 
as she saw him) going steadily down, spending his 
earnings for liquor, while she and the children lacked many 
of life’s comforts. 

Many days he was unable to recover from the effects of 
drinking, remaining away from his work for days at a time. 
This finally caused him to lose his position, which was given 
to a man who did not drink. 

In less than a year from that time, his wife and children 
returned to her father’s home, for, failing to secure work, 
they often were cold and hungry, and he no longer cared to 
remain with them, and he became known as the worst drunk- 
ard in Ashton. 


— 69 • 


His wife was so changed in appearance that her friends of 
other days experienced a shock upon meeting her. 

For more than a year his children did not see him. One 
day, he appeared at the home of his wife’s father, and asked 
to see the children and to talk with his wife. His appear- 
ance frightened the children and they hid in the attic and 
could not be persuaded to come down, saying, “That is not 
our Papa, that is a boo-goo man tramp.” As they looked at 
his ragged clothes and unshaven face, in their hearts they 
could not blame the children for their decision. Then he 
left and went down town and wandered aimlessly down the 
street, when the singing at the tent caused him to enter, and 
as he listened to the sermon, memories of his life in the 
years long ago, brought to his heart a desire to repent. 

When he had finished his story, one young man gave him 
enough money to pay for a bed and a shave, which he so 
badly needed. Others offered to assist him in securing work. 
A place was found the next day, and his employer secured a 
promise from him to attend church. 

Charles Parker, president of the club, said, “Now boys,, 
here is a place for real, personal work.” Fearing he might 
again meet temptation, by agreement, they met him each 
evening as he left his work, and he never suspected that the 
talkative young man was in reality a body guard. He was 
invited to join the chorus choir for he was the possessor of a 
fairly good voice. In three months time, the change in his 
appearance astonished even the club members; the improve- 
ment was so great that they could scarcely take him to be 
the same man, and indeed he was not. 

Rev. Batty, after being told his life’s story, presented him 
with a Bible, and gained a promise that he would read it 
each night. He proved to be a fine workman, and in a year 
succeeded in saving enough to provide a home for his wife, 
who was happy when she learned of his reformation. To his 
children he was their Papa of long ago ; they ran to meet 
him, and tears trickled down his cheeks as they told him of 
the boo-goo man tramp who said he wanted to be their Papa, 
and how their Mamma had cried because he had stayed awav 
so long. As he held them close, he said, “Mamma need not 
cry any more, for I have a place now and we will be happy.” 


— 70 — 


His wife united with the church and many long remem- 
bered the halo of joy that added beauty to her face as she 
told of what God had done for her through the young men 
of the Endless Chain Club. 

The story was told on the streets next day. When the 
editor of the Daily News heard it, he expressed doubt of its 
continuance, and said, “Well, if Benny Bolton can remain 
sober one more year, I will quit smoking, and will say that 
the Brotherhood has done a good deed.” 

Many times had the editor, out of pity for his wife, re- 
fused to print items of Benny Bolton’s conduct while drink- 
ing, therefore people did not express surprise at his opinion 
as expressed in the Daily News. 

The financial problems of the church and clubs were 
solved by the men giving as God had prospered them. 


— 71 — 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
THE SHORN LAMB. 


It was near noon, and the day was hot, such as July only, 
can produce in a prairie country. 

Uriah Bennett drove slowly home from the field where 
sunrise found him plowing, to the unpainted farm house 
shaded by cotton-wood trees, where he had lived many years 
with his sister, Belinda, as his housekeeper; when they were 
young and did not mind the hard work necessary to prepare 
the land for cultivation, or the lonely days. 

Drought and hot winds prevented them prospering as they 
had hoped they would in by-gone days. Age in the form of 
crow foot wrinkles, thinning hair mixed with gray, told of 
their near approach to the half century mark. 

On this particular day, Uriah seemed to be unusually slow 
in watering and feeding the horses, and Belinda observed, as 
he started toward the feed lot, that there was a decided stoop 
in his once broad shoulders. “Guess he is still thinking of 
that little snip, Cynthia Gordon,” she muttered. “Ought to 
be glad he did not get her with her stuck up ways and city- 
fied airs.” She had never forgiven the girl who had many 
years before jilted her only brother, causing him to leave 
his home and seek a strange, new country, in the hope that 
it might heal the hurt. 

Cold milk from the cave back of the house, quenched 
Uriah’s thirst as he sat at the dinner table. 

“Belinda, Ed Thornton was at the field today and said 
that a car-load of orphans from New York City would arrive 
in Topeka Saturday. I have been thinking for some time 
that we need some help for the summer work and it is cheap 
enough, board and clothes, so I told him he could bring me a 
boy fifteen or sixteen years old. He is going to get a girl 
to help his wife take care of the children and do the work.” 

Belinda, thinking of the money it would save, and think- 
ing no one would know if they should get more work out of 
him than a hired hand, quickly informed him that he did 
right, and the next day busied herself getting ready the attic 

— 72 — 


or upper room, filling a tick with straw for the prop bed- 
stead, and an old chair, with an empty box for the oil lamp, 
made up the list of furniture. 

As Belinda surveyed it, she said, “Well, well, beggars 
can’t be choosers, and its precious little time he will spend 
here except when asleep, so what difference does it make, 
anyway.” 

At the supper table, she said, “Now, Uriah, remember no 
foolishness, because the boy is an orphan we must be care- 
ful and not spoil him at first. O dear, I hope he will not 
get us a Jew boy, for he will have to eat fat bacon.” 

Sunday evening, Ed Thornton arrived at the Bennett 
home, with him was a boy of fifteen years, whom he intro- 
duced as Henry Linton, of New York City. He was not 
robust looking or possessed of facial beauty, but bright ap- 
pearing, and answered the many questions of Uriah and his 
sister with great politeness. He did justice to the plain meal 
of bread, milk and butter. 

One of the first things Uriah did the next morning was to 
take him to the melon patch, explaining that he must never 
enter unless he or Belinda was with him. 

Many amusing incidents occurred before the city boy 
learned to do farm work. As winter came, he milked the 
cows, fed the stock and chopped wood and gathered the 
corn. Uriah was not disappointed in the saving of money 
in getting the fall work done. 

To one who had ever had a home, or knew the love of a 
Father and Mother, the room: where Henry slept would have 
seemed poor, and the life on the farm hard and lonesome. A 
boy of the slums, he had no recollection of his parents, and 
to him the room was far ahead of the foul cellar where he 
lived in winter, more inviting than the stairway where he 
slept in summer. His only work had been selling papers, 
in that way he earned a scant living for himself. 

The spring time arrived and tender grass began to color 
the prairie a beautiful green. Henry was allowed to ride the 
gentle brown pony and herd the cattle on the vacant land 
on Uriah’s farm. 

Early in the morning he was awakened by the boo-hoo-hoo 
of hundreds of prairie chickens, while the “bob white” of 
the pretty brown quail was as music to his ears. He gazed 


73 — 


in wonder at the beautiful wild flowers that dotted the green 
prairie, or gazed lovingly at the yellow breasted meadow 
lark, perched on a tall dead rosin leaf, singing a sweet song 
to his mate on her nest near by in the tuft of old grass. 

Uriah was so pleased with Henry that one day he made 
him this promise, that he should have Dick, the pony, and a 
new saddle and bridle for his very own on his twenty-first 
birthday. 

Farm life painted the roses in his cheeks, and tanned his 
face a dark brown, but the one thing that gave him the most 
joy was the thought of having Dick for his very own. 

Belinda experienced a twinge of jealousy as spring passed 
into summer, and she noticed Uriah’s interest in Henry in- 
creasing. “I declare,” she said one day, addressing the pet 
Maltese kitten, “Henry has those same baby looking brown 
eyes that Cynthia Gordon has. I half way believe that is the 
reason that Uriah thinks So much of him.” 

Having expressed her feelings, she proceeded to lock the 
door. Then she unlocked the old cedar chest that had once 
belonged to her mother; she drew from its depths an old 
faded stocking, and emptied the contents' — crisp, new bills, 
into her lap. She touched them tenderly with her toil worn 
hands. “Just ninety-two dollars; it seems a long time since 
I began to save.” She sat talking to herself and the ever 
present Maltese kitten. “Next time I take my eggs and but- 
ter to town, ought to make it an even hundred.” 

Her conversation was interrupted by a knock on the side 
door. She did not attempt to lock the chest or to replace 
the money. Panic stricken at the thought of any one seeing 
her money, she hastily stuffed it into the stocking, reached 
behind the chest for a sack of carpet rags, thrust it to the 
bottom, jammed the sack out of sight, and hurried to open 
the door. Henry was waiting on the step. He told her that 
Mr. Bennett had cut his hand on the mowing scythe, and 
wanted the arnica, and wanted some rags to bind it up. 

Belinda ran to the cave where she kept a sack of worn pil- 
low slips and old linen for such occasions; Henry sat down 
to await her return. 

She went to the field with him and bound up the cut on 
Uriah’s hand, which bled profusely. Henry grew pale at the 
sight of the blood, and wandered away to a creek near by. 


— 74 — 


After caring for Uriah’s hand, Belinda thought of the hid- 
den money, and started for the house, trying to recall where 
she had put it, or whether she had locked the chest. The 
nearer she came to the house, the faster she ran, and think- 
ing that she had put it under the pillow on her bed, a look of 
real terror came over her face when she found it was not 
there. 

Seeing the open chest and thinking she might be mistaken 
as to where she had hidden the precious stocking, she 
searched it without result. Then she remembered that Henry 
was in the house while she was at the cave. Her thin lips 
tightened, and she said, “No one else has been here, so he is 
the thief.” She recalled his going away at the sight of 
Uriah’s hand, saying that he felt sick. Now she knew it was 
an excuse to hide the stocking, and for all any one knew his 
father might have been a pick-pocket. 

She began to think of a plan to get his confession, or 
maybe he might find a new place to hide it, or he might run 
away that very night and go back to New York. 

When Uriah came home in the evening, she had a raging 
headache, and tears dimmed her faded blue eyes. Not seeing 
Henry with him, she said, “Has Henry ran away?” “What 
ails you, Belinda, the boy is chasing a rabbit down in the 
pasture,” he said. 

Then she told him of the loss of the money; his face grew 
very white and the hand he pressed to his forehead tremb- 
led. Circumstances were against Henry, but he could not 
think him guilty, and suggested that another search be 
made. Belinda said, “I just know that he saw me through 
the key hole, and took it while I went to the cave.” “Well, 
well, Belinda, don’t lets say anything to him about it to- 
night.” 

After a sleepless night, Belinda arose and made ready the 
morning meal. Henry had risen earlier than usual to feed 
the horses and milk the cows, thinking to surprise and 
please Uriah. 

It was while at the breakfast table that he noticed Belin- 
da’s silence, and Uriah’s face wore a troubled expression; 
this he attributed to the accident of the day before, and he 
asked Uriah if his hand had pained him during the night, 
and asking that he be allowed to finish mowing the field 
of grass. 


— 75 — 


While Uriah looked at the frank open countenance of the 
boy opposite him, his eyes grew dim with unshed tears, for 
he had promised his sister that he would tell Henry of the 
missing money. Instead he sat with his head bowed until 
Henry went out. Then Belinda reminded him of his prom- 
ise. 

“Belinda, I can’t do it.” It was the first time in all his life 
that he had ever failed to keep a promise made to her. 

She was furious. Uriah could only wonder if that awful 
looking woman was really his sister Belinda. Added to the 
loss of the money, was a fast growing jealousy of the boy. 
She left the house and went to the home of the president of 
the Vigilant League, and to him she told her story of the 
missing money. 

In her anger she colored the facts so much that there was 
no room for doubt in the mind of the president, and he prom- 
ised to see that an opportunity was given Henry to confess. 
Telling Belinda to get Uriah to see a physician about his 
hand, and assuring her that with a few trusted members he 
would see Henry that night, he bade her good-bye. 

Belinda returned home, and as Uriah’s hand was badly 
swollen, and giving him great pain, it was not a difficult task 
to persuade him! to go to Ashton to consult a surgeon, fear- 
ing blood poisoning if he delayed. 

On arriving in Ashton, he was informed that the surgeon 
was out of town, but that he would return in the evening. He 
decided to await his return, and midnight found him walk- 
ing home from the lonely station two miles from the farm 
house. 

He wondered if Belinda would be uneas^ because of his 
unexpected delay. “Belinda is not like she used to be. She 
is surely getting childish,” he said. As if in answer to his 
words, there was a noise in the grass at his feet, a rabbit, 
awakened at the sound of his voice, lost no time in changing 
his grassy bed. 

When Henry came in from the field and was told that 
Uriah had gone to see a surgeon, he was greatly distressed, 
and did not retire as early as usual. At eleven o’clock, the 
sound of many feet on the stone walk, was followed by a 
loud knocking on the door. Belinda expressed no surprise 


— 76 — 


when she answered it, and several men with red handker- 
chiefs over their faces came in. 

Henry was told by Belinda that they came to see him, and 
his face grew white, his knees trembled, and he dropped in 
the chair from which he had risen on their entrance. The 
president informed him of the loss of Miss Bennett’s money. 
He was so taken by surprise that when the leader said, 
“Young man, where did you hide it?” he opened his mouth 
to deny it, but no words followed. His tongue and throat 
seemed parched and dry, as he realized that he was the sus- 
pected thief. O, if Uriah were only at home, he could tell 
them that he was honest, never taking even a penny when 
sent to buy things. While such thoughts formed in his 
mind, the leader grew impatient. “Come, come, young man, 
Miss Bennett knows you took the money, hurry up and tell 
us where it is.” 

He arose from the chair. The action brought a return of 
speech, and his voice rang out in denial. “I did not even 
know that she had any money. I never took it and if Mr. 
Bennett were here he would tell you that I do not steal.” 
Threats of sending him to jail did not cause him to change 
his statement. The leader took him by the arm:, and with 
the help of the others, pushed him out of the house. This 
so frightened him that he could not walk, and he was liter- 
ally dragged to a cottonwood tree in the pasture, where a 
rope was fastened around his neck, and again he was asked 
to tell where the money was. Though half fainting from 
the terror of the situation, he again asserted his innocence. 

“String him up boys,” and suiting their actions to the 
voice of their leader, he was drawn from the ground. A 
gurgling sound broke the stillness when the rope was loosen- 
ed from the limb over which it rested, and he fell to the 
ground, a limp form, where he lay as if dead. 

“Jeminy, what if we have more than scared him,” said one 
cf the band. Just then a groan from Henry relieved his 
mind on that particular point. One of them raised the boy 
to his feet. Realizing the fate in store for him, as the rope 
remained on his neck, he screamed, “Yes, yes, I will tell you 
all about it. Only let me go and I will get it in the morning.” 
“All right, boys, take him to the house,” said the leader, and 


— 77 — 


only one remained with Henry, the rest of them silently de- 
parting amid the darkness of the night. 

The man lectured Henry as he went with him, for the in- 
gratitude to Miss Bennett, who had been good enough to 
give him a home. On arriving they found Uriah had return- 
ed, and his white, drawn face showed that he had been told 
of the affair by Belinda. 

The man said, “Well, he confessed,” and Belinda said, 
“Now you see that I am right, I knew all the time that he 
took it.” Henry went to Uriah’s side, saying, VI never took 
it, I only said I did to get away from them.” Uriah patted 
Henry on the shoulder, saying, “Of course you never, 
Henry.” 

Then there was a consultation between Belinda and the 
man, who said, “I will see that he is landed in jail tomorrow, 
for circumstantial evidence will convict him all right.” 

Henry, weak from, fright, crept to his bed in the attic to 
cry himself to sleep, for with other things he must give up 
Dick, his pretty pony. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

A reporter in search of news happened to be near the 
Ashton Courthouse when the sheriff arrived with a brown 
eyed boy in charge. He called to the news gatherer as he 
started towards the jail, “Here is a good item, it is a strange 
affair.” While Henry Linton looked out through the iron 
bars, the sheriff told the story of his arrest, saying that he 
was alone in the world, and an orphan, apparently without a 
friend. 

When the story appeared in the Daily News, it touched 
many hearts in that beautiful city, and soon was a topic of 
conversation on the streets. The owner and editor of the 
News was more deeply touched than any one as he thought 
of the orphan boy. For court was now in session, and the 
county attorney had said that he would do his best to secure 
conviction. 

Mr. Watson had always contended that boys were usually 
treated unfairly; he called at the jail to see the unfortunate 
boy, and was impressed with the frank manner in which 
Henry Linton told his story. As he listened, he was con- 
vinced of the boy’s innocence, in the face of circumstances 
connected with the case. 

Though the Bennett farm was in a distant corner of the 
county, he drove out there to get the story of the Bennett’s. 
Upon his return he was more determined than ever to see 
that a fair trial was given the orphan boy. 

Welman Bailey was a life long friend of the editor, and 
considered the best lawyer in Ashton. Mr. Watson called 
at his office with the idea of engaging him to defend the boy, 
sure of his ever ready sympathy in the case, for Mr. Bailey 
had been an orphan, and by hard work had won a high place 
in his profession. 

Perhaps it was the recollection of his own boyhood with 
its long days of hard work on the farm that made the editor’s 
task an easy one. “I do not expect you to do this as a favor 
to me because of our many years of friendship, but will pay 

— 79 — 


you well,” said Mr. Watson. ‘Only do your best for the 
boy.” 

Welman Bailey was one of the leading men of the Friend- 
ly Men’s Brotherhood, and now he reminded the editor of 
the fact by directing his attention to a card above his desk, 
bearing this sentence. “I was in prison and ye came unto 
me.” Mr. Bailey said, “I will defend that boy free of 
charge.” The editor departed, knowing that Mr. Bailey 
would prove his assertion. 

The same day he called at the jail to see and talk with 
Henry Linton, who had grown weary of the gaze of curious 
people who came to look at him. Henry sat with his back to 
the door, his face covered with his hands, his thoughts busy 
with the big city far away. Why had he ever come West; 
again he was saying, “Buy a paper, please,” as the people 
rushed past him on the busy streets of that far away city. 
He did not hear the key as it grated in the lock, or the door 
swing on its rusty hinges. Only when the sheriff called his 
name, and he arose to find himself looking into the sympa- 
thetic eyes of Welman Bailey did he again realize his sad 
condition. The sheriff said, “This man would like to talk 
with you,” and locked the door, and went away, leaving them 
alone. 

“Now by boy, tell me all about this affair, and all about 
your past life,” said Mr. Bailey. When Henry finished his 
story, he said, “You will need a lawyer to defend you and 
that is why I came to see you. My name is Welman Bailey, 
I am a lawyer, and will at once inform the prosecuting at- 
torney that I will defend you free of charge, for I believe 
from what you tell me, that you are innocent.” 

A pleased expression replaced the look of sorrow that had 
been on his face since coming to jail, as Henry said, “I do 
not know any thing of court or law, but I thank you.” 

While listening to his story, Welman Bailey noticed his 
faded overalls, and well worn shoes, and threadbare coat. 
Bidding Henry a cheery good-bye, he went at once to a 
clothing store, where he ordered at his own expense, a suit 
of clothes, hat and shoes for Henry, and placed in one of the 
pants pockets a bran new five dollar note, and ordered that 
the package be sent at once to the orphan boy in jail. 


After this, he called on the prosecuting attorney, and told 
him of his intention of defending the accused boy, and suc- 
ceeded in securing of him a promise of a hearing at the end 
of the present session of court. With a feeling of having 
done nothing more than his duty to the orphan boy, Welman 
Bailey returned to his palatial home; seated in an easy 
chair in his well filled library, he smoked his after dinner, 
imported cigar. As he watched the circling rings of smoke 
rise in the air, his mind was busy with the plea to acquit the 
orphan boy of theft. 

When the time came for the case against Henry Linton to 
be tried, the large court room was filled to overflowing. 
Many were deeply interested in the case since Welman 
Bailey had shown him such kindness. Others were there 
solely for the purpose of hearing Welman Bailey’s plea, for 
his reputation as an orator was well known. 

Henry, neatly dressed, sat beside his counsel, oblivious of 
the gaze of the crowd of curious and sympathetic people 
who each day attended the trial. 

Belinda Bennett was the main witness, and Uriah sat with 
bowed head as she told the story of the missing money. In 
the cross-questioning, Welman Bailey asked, “Why did you 
not put your money in the bank instead of in your stocking ?” 
She blushingly said, “Why it was almost as much company 
to me as the Maltese kitten.” 

Mr. Bailey’s reply was, “Why you have no idea of mother 
love, having no children of your own.” Her faded blue eyes 
flashed, as she said, half rising from her chair, “It is none of 
your business if I haven’t.” Her answer caused a ripple of 
laughter, and it was with difficulty that the judge retained 
his usual gravity of countenance, as he rapped for order. 
Welman Bailey dismissed the witness without further ques- 
tioning. 

In closing his final argument the county attorney said to 
the jury: “How can you fail to convict this boy after hear- 
ing the testimony of this dear, kindly maiden lady; why I 
would as soon doubt my own mother as to doubt her.” Be- 
linda cast a look at Uriah which said, as plain as words, 
“What did I tell you.” 

During his arraignment of the orphan boy, hisses were 
heard at intervals from different parts of the court room, 


— 81 — 


and the “Order, order,” of the judge did not prevent the 
feeling of indignation in the hearts of mothers as they 
clasped their little ones to them in the fear that such a fate 
might be theirs. 

A subdued murmur of applause greeted Welman Bailey 
when he arose to begin his plea for the accused boy. He 
painted a word picture of his life in the city, and as he fol- 
lowed the boy’s lonely life with its hardships, there was 
scarcely a dry eye in the audience. Tears gathered in the 
eyes of several of the jury as in his inimitable way Welman 
Bailey told them of the great wrong done the boy in accus- 
ing him of the crime. A period of intense silence followed 
the judge’s charge as the jury filed out to consider the ver- 
dict; few left the room, as it was believed little time v/ould 
be consumed by the men in arriving at a decision in the case. 
Almost breathless, they awaited the verdict. 

Soon they were rewarded by the return of the jury. The 
foreman announced that they had rendered a verdict. As 
the sentence, “Not guilty,” was spoken by the foreman, a 
look of relief came into Uriah’s face, but Belinda, in a half 
fainting condition, had to be removed from the court room 
by the friends who accompanied her. 

Many pressed forward to grasp the hand of Henry Linton, 
and expressed their joy upon hearing such a favorable ver- 
dict. Many compliments were heard on every hand of Wel- 
man Bailey for his kindness to an orphan boy, as well as for 
his oratory. 

It was late in the afternoon, the great audience melted 
away almost as quickly as the last snow of the season be- 
fore the spring sunshine, and Henry Linton soon found him- 
self alone again, but for the presence of his friend and 
counsel. 

Though acquitted of theft, a shadow hung over his future; 
this Welman Bailey recognized, and the thought filled his 
heart with pity for the lonely boy. What was to become of 
him now? 

While all were glad, none offered the much needed help. 
So Welman Bailey took Henry home with him, and employ- 
ed him as errand and office boy, and became deeply attached 
to him as time passed. 


— 82 — 


There was a certain sadness about Henry, because he had 
once been in jail, that even the kindness of Welman Bailey 
and his wife could not dispel. 

Several months later the lawyer and his wife were pleased 
and their hearts overflowed with joy and thanksgiving, for 
one day Belinda Bennett entertained her friends and neigh- 
bors with a rag carpet party, and when the long forgotten 
sack of rags was brought from its resting place behind the 
old cedar chest, and the contents emptied and spread out on 
the floor, to the astonishment of all present, Belinda Ben- 
nett gave one piercing scream and fainted, falling on the 
pile of rags. After much work on the part of those present, 
she regained her senses, and in answer to the many anxious 
inquiries, she took the precious old stocking from the rags, 
where with her own hands she had hidden it long months 
before, and acknowledged before her guests, her mistake in 
accusing Henry Linton of stealing the long lost and much 
talked of money. 

Once again Henry Linton’s face was lighted by that sweet 
smile of old. Welman Bailey and his wife decided to adopt 
him as their own son, for no children had ever come to bless 
their home. 

Another year had rolled around and Benny Bolton, who 
was once the town drunkard, had remained sober, and was 
now foreman of the large brick yards, where he had been 
employed after being rescued by the young men of the End- 
less Chain club. 

It was during a great evangelistic meeting, led by Gypsy 
Smith, who had been secured by the Friendly Men’s Broth- 
erhood to hold a meeting for men, that the editor of the 
Daily News, after many nights attendance of the meetings, 
came forward and confessed his belief in God and of man’s 
dependence on him. 

It was a time of great rejoicing, and people marveled at 
the great change in Mr. Watson; some said it was the earn- 
est work of the Friendly Men’s Brotherhood, others said it 
was the reformation of Benny Bolton and power of Christ 
to save men manifested through Gypsy Smith. 

Nothing in all Ashton is such a power for good as the 
Daily News, whose editor declares that all men owe it to 
God to help and uplift others. 


— 83 — 


CHAPTER XX. 

“THEY THAT FOLLOW ME.” 


Charity Templeton was greatly loved by the minister and 
his wife, not only for her devotion to and work in the 
church, but because she so strongly reminded them of a 
daughter who, many years before, had brightened and 
blessed their home. Her early death was the one great sor- 
row of their lives. Her great love for the church lingered 
in their memories, and sometimes, as they looked at Char- 
ity, in their own minds, they fancied their own “Little 
Elizabeth,” as she would have appeared, going in and out of 
the homes of the people, on errands of love and helpful- 
ness. 

Their love found a response in Charity’s heart, and she 
felt almost as if in the presence of her own parents, and this 
feeling was a great comfort in her lonely life. 

As the years passed swiftly, and silver threads became 
more numerous in her shining golden hair, Charity thought 
more often of Arthur, who was now a prosperous business 
man in the far West, where he had found a beautiful and 
loving wife. Such thoughts saddened her heart, and caused 
her to wish that she, too, had a happy home of her own. 

She was aroused from a reverie of this kind one afternoon, 
by the postman’s knock, who handed her a letter, bearing a 
strange postmark. She opened it, and a feeling of faintness 
seized her on seeing a check for five thousand dollars in her 
favor. With growing astonishment, she read: 


Silverdale, Nebraska, 

September 7th, 19 — 


Dear Miss Templeton: — 

While this check will surprise you very much, it is rightly 
yours. Many years ago, my father, as manager of your fath- 
er’s business, wrongfully appropriated this sum for his own 
use. Owing to a fortunate investment in mining stock, I 
am now a wealthy man, and feel it my duty to see that you 
are repaid, so please do not thank me. 


Very Respectfully, 


R. James Henshaw.” 


When Charity finished reading, she placed the check on 
her desk, and, kneeling, thanked the Heavenly Father again 
and again for his loving care over her. 


THE END. 



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